The Dragon and the Bear
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: Following the conclusion of the dragon and vampire crises in Skyrim, the fragile peace shatters. Now under pressure from the Dominion, the war between the Empire of Cyrodiil and the rebels led by Ulfric Stormcloak reaches a feverish pitch. Sequel to "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", rated M for violence and language.
1. Prologue - The Rising Threat

**(AN: Yeah, creative title, I know. But here we are again, back in Tamriel, the Beauty of Dawn, to bring you the second part of the tale of Eirik Bjornsson the Dragonborn. Same cast as before - Eirik the Dragonborn, Mjoll the Lioness, Crixus the Imperial Legate [of course he won't die: everyone on _FanFiction_ love the Empire, they don't want to see the Empire's paragon of virtue and tolerance to be slain!], Lydia the Huscarl, etc. We will see a few new characters as well as expansion of minor roles from the last story. Serana probably won't have that big a role, though she will make a cameo here and there.)  
><strong>

**(While the last story, _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, the story to which this is the sequel, was more or less guided by the established story of the game, this will explore an alternate end for the war as well as pushing the boundaries of how the Civil War in Skyrim might escalate. More boundaries will be pushed [though I doubt we'll be shooting for another 100+ chapter, 500,000+ word epic like the last one]. Some big stuff will be going on, and I do mean BIG. People will die, not just nameless and faceless bandits, but actually people with names.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue - The Rising Threat<strong>

Elenwen did not like to be kept waiting. There was precious little time for the accomplishment of her goals and so far, they had been all but thwarted. It was nothing short of a miracle - not of Auri-El, obviously - that that dragon had appeared in Helgen as it had. Whoever had called Ulfric Stormcloak out of Windhelm and towards the border was someone the Thalmor needed to find and eliminate, for they would threaten the entire operation.

Yes, the operation. It was for that reason that she was sitting in her own office in Solitude, waiting for her guest to arrive. The Stormcloaks wisely distrusted the Thalmor: they were foolish but useful puppets. The Empire, who had but twenty years ago opposed them, were sueing for peace with the Thalmor: they were working out their own destruction. She knew, as well as Ondolemar and Ancano, her agents in the East and the West, knew that Skyrim and the Empire of Cyrodiil rose and fall at the will of the Dominion. Soon it would be time for their people to know that truth as well.

Suddenly the door was thrown open. There stood High Justicar Thelgil, whose appearance in Solitude several months ago had caused a sensation, especially when that meddlesome Nord had escaped the headsman's block. Now he stood once more in her office, towering over her while gazing down his thin, boney nose at her with his squint, yellow eyes.

"High Justicar," Elenwen greeted with thinly veiled contempt. "It's an honor to have you back in Skyrim."

"What kind of an honor do you call that?" he asked in a deep, menacing, autocratic voice. "It's cold and the people sicken me. Snow-backs, barbarians, the lot of them! Wouldn't give a bucket of piss to one if they asked me."

"That certainly wasn't your tone when you were last here," Elenwen replied. "As I recall, you threatened to make Eirik Bjornsson's woman your own."

"What do I care of these fat, ugly, pasty little maggots?" Thelgil asked, his voice rising in anger as he paced around the room. "Their very presence is a mockery to the Dominion, especially that one."

"So what brings you back to Skyrim?" Elenwen asked. "Come to steal away fair maidens?"

"Watch your tone, Elenwen," Thelgil replied, turning to her with a menacing finger pointed in her direction. "Your father might have been the martyr Saint Naarifin, but your name holds no weight with my family."

"Which I will never join," Elenwen retorted. "You seem to have it in your head that I seek to give up all this just to move in to your ivory tower in Alinor and marry you."

"Think about it," Thelgil said, a lecherous grin on his face. "The heir to the Aldmeri Dominion and the champion of champions, head of the most influential family on Alinor. Who could ask for a more fitting match?"

"Is that why you came here, Thelgil?" she asked. "Well, you'll find that this damnable cold weather hasn't improved my opinion on you. No, Lord Thelgil, I will not accept your offer."

"Then you will accept my wrath," Thelgil said. "Why have you not gone ahead with our plans?"

Elenwen rolled her eyes. Sooner or later, she knew, it was bound to come to this. "If you had only read my letter..."

"I have read your letter," Thelgil said, his voice changing from anger to mocking jest. "An amusing apology, my hearth found it welcoming."

"What was I supposed to do?" Elenwen asked. "Those apes locked me out of their little peace summit. Even afterwards when I managed to weasel the truth out of Tullius, my hands were tied. Your actions at Solitude did not change the public opinion of the Thalmor."

"I do not care about public opinion," Thelgil replied, his voice returning once more to a sneer.

"Well, you'd be surprised, the Imperials do," Elenwen said, ending with a slight snicker. "They're actually publishing pamphlets defending our excommunication of their false god, encouraging their people to embrace us as friends."

Thelgil laughed. "Is this supposed to placate my anger? Don't you have agents?"

"After the attack at Northwatch," Elenwen began. "We've...lost quite a few."

"Then we take it back!" Thelgil insisted. "What about Ondolemar? Ancano? Hmm? They're still operating, aren't they? What have they to report?"

"Everyone in the Reach hold has forgotten about Talos," Elenwen replied. "Under pain of death. It will be nothing short of a signed order from me that will have Ondolemar convince that foolish Jarl Igmund to tear down that eye-sore of a temple in Markarth. As for Ancano..." She paused, visibly uncomfortable about what she was about to say.

"Yes? What about him?"

"I fear that he has...disappeared."

"What?" Thelgil retorted angrily.

"That fool was almost as bad as you are!" Elenwen retorted. "If someone with a bit more temperance had been sent, perhaps we could have secured for ourselves a bit of magicka to use for the..."

Thelgil shushed Elenwen with one hand raised to his lips. "Be careful not to let words slip."

"But if I have failed in the matter of Ancano," Elenwen continued. "What shall we say about your agents in Cyrodiil?"

"What shall we say about them?" he asked.

"Despite your 'best efforts' to do what we have been doing for the past twenty-seven years," Elenwen replied. "The Empire is amassing strength. New legions are amassing in the south, which, I hear, from a very reliable source, will be in Skyrim as soon as their pathetic little peace ends. With new forces, the war will end in their favor, a thing which we cannot allow to happen. Your failure is now my problem."

Thelgil laughed. "Did you not think that this was not already planned out? Their troops fighting in the north, a swift strike to the heart of the southern dragon will be its end. With the death of that petty potentate, I control half of the Elder Council. A unified Skyrim, whether under the control of the Empire or the rebels, will not be capable of defending against the inevitable for at least twenty years."

"Then we have no quarrel," Elenwen stated. "This land will once more be ours."

"I think not," Thelgil said, turning to Elenwen. He rose his hands and snapped his fingers. "Because of your failure to control the situation, I have taken your place as Head of the Thalmor operations in Skyrim."

Two Thalmor soldiers, clad in golden Elvish armor, approached Elenwen from behind, flanking her on both left and right. She looked at them with surprise, then back to Thelgil.

"This is madness!" she exploded. "Whose arse did you have to kiss for this insanity to take place? You will destroy everything I have worked so hard to achieve!"

"The loss of Northwatch Keep and the treaty you allowed to be passed without our involvement," Thelgil continued. "Have proven your incompetence at maintaining control of the situation. It is in the best interest of our operations that I take complete control over both the southern and the norther campaigns and to place you under house arrest until further notice." He turned to the soldiers and told them to take her away. As she was being removed, Thelgil turned to Elenwen's office in the embassy, which was now his office. He removed a folio from the table nearby and opened it up, smiling as he saw what was written inside.

"Soon," he said. "They will all see. The Empire, and all of its foolish serfs, only exist because we we allow it to exist. They will know the truth, starting with you...Eirik Bjornsson."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Already big things are happening. This rather radical Thalmor agent, and member of a wealthy family on Summerset IslesAlinor arrives in Skyrim to stir shit up. Dark days are ahead for our characters, no doubts about that. Unlike the first story of the series, this begins with a prologue and will then hit the ground running. Very little time spent on flash-backs unless they're important.)**


	2. Peace's End

**(AN: And now we cut away to our hero, who, after defeating Harkon with Serana's help, gone on to offer his service as a warrior to the thane of his home hold, despite Siddgeir being referred to quite frequently as a Canute [lol]. Looking back on _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, I feel that I was a bit too profane. Of course a few choice words may still be dropped, but I don't know if I'll have as much profanity here as in the first one. I don't know, whenever Eirik and Crixus would have a fight and they'd start hurling obscenities at each other, it made me feel like they were thirteen instead of thirty and forty-five [respectively])**

* * *

><p><strong>Peace's End<strong>

It was the twenty-first day of Morning Star in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era. A Middas day which proved to be unusually bright and clear, especially for this season, where heavily overcast clouds in the lower plains, rain in the midlands and heavy snow on the mountains were the norm. The forests of Falkreath were bright and glistening green with the light of the sun, fresh from the recent rains. On a hill-side somewhere between Riverwood and Oakwood in the hold of Falkreath, a house was being built. Not just a small house, but a manor house. It had long been the charge of the Jarl of Falkreath to have his trusted thanes keep watch over the road between Oakwood and Riverwood, but, as the years went by and Falkreath began to lose overall influence in Skyrim - being once an annex of the Colovian Highlands - Lakeview Estate soon became less and less important in the overall view. However, things had changed in Skyrim since the days of Cuhlecain and Falkreath was part of Skyrim now. Furthermore, Siddgeir the Jarl of Falkreath had, by the recommendation of his steward, allowed the property of Lakeview Estate to be reinstated as a steading for his thane.

Eirik Bjornsson, Thane of Whiterun, Harbinger of the Companions and Dragonborn, was a name that was rising up in the most influential names in Skyrim. Aside from his known sympathies for Ulfric Stormcloak and the rebellion, he received almost province-wide renown for his part in the ending of the recent dragon crisis, as well as bringing about a loose but lasting peace between the rebels and the Empire of Cyrodiil. So it was that most of the Jarls, when he came to their holds after the end of the dragon crisis, were more than willing to accept his sword at their service. In Falkreath he had proven himself to Jarl Siddgeir not only with the elimination of three bandit camps that had terrorized the people of Falkreath, but the culling of a sudden menace of ogres from the Jerall Mountains. Despite his political leanings, Siddgeir recognized that Eirik was valuable to keep around and so he made him Thane of Falkreath and gave him the land of Lakeview Estate to build a house for himself.

So it was that this bright and sunny day, on Middas the twenty-first day of Morning Star, in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, found Eirik Bjornsson and those who had been friends of his building the house that would one day be his. With him were his two huscarls, Lydia of Whiterun and Rayya the Bright, a Redguard who had accompanied him on several of his journies. With them also was Mjoll the Lioness, an adventurer and friend of the people of Riften, who had married Eirik on the twenty-fifth day of Frostfall last year and was now a little over seven weeks with child. At her side was Aerin, a Nibenese man who had befriended Mjoll after saving her from death in the Dwemer ruin of Mzinchaleft. Here also was Ralof, a native of Falkreath who had joined the Stormcloaks when the rebellion broke out. As there was peace, he was allowed leave to visit his friend and comrade Eirik and had agreed to, while he was present, help with the building of his house by Lake Ilinalta.

On that morning rode Servius Crixus, a Colovian ranger, Legate in the Imperial Legion, Thane of Solitude, veteran of the Great War with the Dominion and, beyond all likelihood, Eirik's friend. He rode atop a black mare, dressed in traveling gear with only his bow as a visible weapon and a quiver at his side. With him on another horse rode a figure hooded and cloaked, strangely for the time of day and current weather, all in black. They arrived at the clearing in the forest where Eirik, his friend and his huscarls were busy working on what appeared to be a manor. None of them wore armor, for it was too hot to wear armor while working, and highly impractical, but both Eirik and Ralof wore no shirts, while both Rayya and Lydia wore the plain tunics and trousers they wore underneath their armor. Rayya was about the house, shoring up the stave beams with nails and a hammer, while Lydia was given the task of packing the white lime mortar in between the beams. Crixus brought his horse up to the steading, tied it off to a nearby tree, and walked over to the skeleton of the house, looking for Eirik. He was found inside the wooden skeleton, applying wooden floor-boards to what would be the north-eastern wing of the house, and beneath him was a rudimentary basement cut out into the earth, which Ralof was lining with stone bricks and mortar.

"Well well well," Crixus said with a smile on his face. "Eirik the builder. This is something I never thought I'd see."

"Come to help us build this house?" Eirik asked, not taking his eyes away from the floor.

"I've come to watch," Crixus said. "And bring news. But first, news for me." He sat down on the floor of the north-east wing, which had been partially laid down save for that which would cover over the basement. "I heard that you were moving out of Whiterun. Got tired of being cramped in Breezehome?"

"Aye," Eirik returned.

"And that you're the thane of Falkreath," Crixus snickered. "Hard to believe that happened. How did you convince Siddgeir to do that?"

"I ran some errands for him," Eirik said. "He seemed to be rather pleased with having me around. Although, my new huscarl Rayya says otherwise."

"That's right," she added, passing them by with a bag of nails in one hand. "He has little regard for ruling his hold. Methinks that he was afraid your diligence would put his ruling to shame in the eyes of the people."

"But if he has little regard for ruling," Eirik asked. "Why care if his rule is shamed?"

"Advice from his steward, doubtless," Rayya replied as she continued about her work.

"I see you've found a permanent occupation for Rayya," Crixus added with a smile. "Shaddar will miss her service."

"And how are you?" Eirik asked. "What is Marcurio up to these days?"

"Marcurio is back in Riften, looking for work," Crixus replied. "And my business is none of your concern." He paused for a moment to take a look around at the house. "How long did it take to build all this?"

"Roughly seven days," Eirik replied.

"What about the Companions?" Crixus asked. "I heard you were their leader."

"The Companions have no leader," Eirik stated. "They have a Harbinger."

"Yes yes, but what about that, huh?" Crixus returned. "They're in Jorrvaskr, you're out here. How is that going to work, you being here in Falkreath?"

"Every Loredas," Eirik replied. "I'll ride to Whiterun by way of North Keep. You know they've rebuilt it after the dragon attacks. Anyway, once I'm in Whiterun, I'll spend the day in Jorrvaskr, hearing grievances, resolving disputes, advising on matters of honor, justice and glory."

Crixus threw his head back and laughed aloud. "You giving advice? Usually they wait until you're my age until they start coming to you for advice!" He sighed. "Oh, but have it your own way. I suppose you're the brightest Nord in Skyrim."

Eirik sighed. "Well, as you can see here," he said as he took a board from Rayya. "We're a bit busy here, so in case you want to help, you might as well say what needs to be said."

"Busy?" Crixus asked. "Your woman and her little foot-pad are just sitting around doing nothing."

"Mjoll needs her rest," Eirik said. "She wasn't feeling well this morning. And Aerin is complaining about the work and Mjoll tends to his wishes like a child."

"Seems just like her," Crixus mused. "Anyway, there's something you should know."

"Does it have to do with your hooded friend?" Eirik asked.

"No," a familiar voice replied from beneath the hood. Eirik turned and saw the one beneath the hood lift it up ever so slightly, revealing a pale but familiar face.

"Serana," he said. "It's been a while. What brings you here?"

"Work, and that's as far as I can say," Serana cryptically replied. "But I ran into Crixus on his way here and he told me that he was coming to you and I thought I'd see what you were up to. It's only been a few days and yet it seems so long since we were fighting together in Castle Volkihar."

"Aye, that it does," Eirik replied with a smile.

"Well," Crixus spoke up after a lengthy pause. "I don't want to disrupt your building. Keep at it, make sure to add plenty of guest rooms."

"For what?"

"For when you have guests, of course," Crixus chuckled. "So I'll be on my way." He stood up, then paused and turned about. "Oh yes, that's right. I intercepted a messenger in Whiterun: apparently they're holding their little moot or whatever."

"The Moot!" Eirik exclaimed.

"Remind me again what that is?" Serana asked.

"Huh?" Eirik asked in surprise. "Oh, yes, of course. You didn't have that. I just...well, it's been so long, I can't remember when there wasn't a Moot. It's where the Jarls gather together and select the next High King of Skyrim." Eirik turned to Crixus. "Any idea where it's being held?"

"The same place we had the peace summit," Crixus returned. "I'll be seeing you there." He turned to Serana and called her to mount up as they were leaving soon.

"I guess I'll see you again, Eirik," Serana said. "It was nice to see you again."

Eirik waved at them, then went back to work as they rode off westward, towards Oakwood. Meanwhile, Lydia appeared at his side, removing the gloves caked in lime mortar from off her hands.

"Did I hear right?" she asked. "The Moot is being held in High Hrothgar? But I thought they would have postponed the Moot until after the war was brought to a conclusion."

"I suppose they saw the peace we made as a reason to get the Moot over and done with," Eirik replied. "I agree as well. This peace is almost over. Soon the fighting will commence again."

"Maybe that will be for the best," Lydia suggested. "I've heard many in the Bannered Mare say that the Moot is all pomp and show, and that the future High King is already decided by the Empire."

"Aye, that's the truth of it," Ralof spoke up. "Whatever they're planning at High Hrothgar, it can't be good. Any candidates presented will likely be Imperial sympathizers."

"That's likely," Eirik sighed. "Still, I feel that we should at least go and see what it will be. The voice of the Dragonborn must certainly be heard."

"Well, I won't be going," Ralof replied. "Someone has to finish this up." Both Eirik and Ralof laughed, while Lydia made a 'hmph' sound and went back to work. "Besides, it sounds to me like a trap. I wouldn't trust them, not after the seventeenth of Last Seed."

"Then you may stay," Eirik smiled. "But I will go, and so will my wife and my huscarl Lydia."

"Aye," Ralof grumbled. "I'll see if I can get my brother-in-law Hod to lend some workers to this. Maybe even he himself could do some work."

"Thank you, Ralof," Eirik said. "You're a good friend."

"Dragonborn," Ralof scoffed playfully. "Who was the dragon? Your pa or your mum?"

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Already things are shaping up once again in the land of Skyrim.)<strong>

**(My brother, the Imperial sympathizer, is very selective when it comes to the game. He believes that the game developers bias towards the Empire is because "the Empire are right and the Stormcloaks are wrong", that any lack of plot development or character development on the part of the Imperial sympathizers is because "the developers didn't finish it", while any lack of plot development or character development on the part of the Stormcloak sympathizers is G-canon and indisputable. For instance, Brunwulf Free-Winter, if made Jarl of Windhelm, won't lift a finger to help the Dunmer out of their condition: he says that's because the developers didn't fully flesh that out. While I try to make lore-realistic reasons for these holes, I do note that the Moot never happens. And the game provides little evidence about the Moot. Why is it that the Stormcloaks believe it's rigged? How does Ulfric "have them in his pocket" at the end of the Stormcloak victory that will ensure his election? Why would the Jarls promote Elisif to High Queen since she's so weak and defers often to General Tullius?)**


	3. The Twenty-First of Morning Star

**(AN: For some reason, every time I upload a document to the manager, if I've done any work on it prior to uploading it, all that gets erased and I'm left with just the title. Thanks _FF_!)**

**(Trying to update this story as quickly as possible, to give any potential readers something to enjoy, not just one chapter [i hate when i go looking for new stories and find like six thousand one chapter fics. One-shots I can understand but longer stories with just one chapter irk me. Like there should be more but there isn't]. Another reason for continuing is not just for the sake of finishing Eirik's story and the war [and Tarvis, aka. Kills-Many-Nords and his threat], but also because, while writing _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, I remembered the fundamental problem with the war and that it needs to be fixed. Kind of vague but intentionally so that it will be played out in the story.)  
><strong>

**(Also something I never mentioned in the last chapter. I know that the peace treaty was established, the one that you do in Season Unending, just go with it. I'll explain why things have [or have not] changed later in the story.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Twenty-First of Morning Star<strong>

It had been a long day of riding for the three warriors. From Lakeview they made their way east and north to Riverwood, and then straight north across to the edge of the plains of Whiterun, lying golden upon the flanks of the Throat of the World. Here they returned to the main road, which wound away towards the Valtheim Towers, two large towers on either side of the White River, that formed the boundary between Whiterun Hold and the hold of Eastmarch, where Ulfric Stormcloak stood as Jarl of Windhelm.

The night was closing in as they passed along towards the towers and there they made their camp, in the ruined towers. Once this had been the abode of bandits, but, for reasons that Eirik knew not, they had not returned to this spot in many days. So it was that Eirik and Mjoll and Lydia made their camp in the tower, wrapping themselves in thick fur cloaks for the night. While the day had been bright and clear away in Falkreath, the cold winds began to pick up once they passed the Throat of the World. It was, after all, still winter. While Mjoll fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the make-shift pillow - Eirik's rucksack filled with gear they would possibly need for the travel - Eirik could not sleep. Though he had been cured of the beast-blood that he had undertaken while among the Companions and, therefore, had need of rest, he could not sleep. Ever since that second night, when the sun returned after his mistake at Castle Volkihar, his sleep had been plagued by dreams. In the dreams he saw Ysgramor standing before him, the mists of Sovngarde swirling about his mighty feet. In the dream, he approached Ysgramor, the greatest hero of the people of Skyrim, and told him how he had saved the Companions' last Harbinger from the beast-blood.

"Well done, worthy son of Skyrim," said Ysgramor. "Your welcome to this place will be even greater when your time has come because of this. But keep sharp your blade, for dark days are soon to come upon this land."

Eirik awoke confused and worrisome every night thereafter. He felt as though he had experienced dark days before, in the draugr-infested barrows of Skyrim, the Falmer holes and Dwemer cities deep below the ground, the mists of Alduin the World-Eater and the unlight caused when his pride allowed Harkon Volkihar to, for a moment, blot out the sun. Those had been dark days, as bleak and hopeless as any he had experienced in all of his time since returning to Skyrim. But, whether by the hand of the gods, the might of his friends or by his own indomitable will, he had somehow survived even the darkest of days. How could things get any worse?

As he stirred, he saw Lydia pacing nearby where the horses were tethered within the bottom level of the tower. Rising up he made his way to his huscarl. She was clad in her steel armor and her sword was on her belt. Her shield was lying on the ground next to the rest of their gear - dragon-bone armor and Nordic carved steel armor for Eirik and Mjoll respectively - and she looked alert and ready.

"Can't sleep either?" Lydia asked.

"Why can't you?" Eirik retorted. "Miss your cup and chair?"

"Obviously," Lydia sighed. "But it's not only that. Do you hear the howling of the wind?" Eirik inclined his ear towards the partially closed door of the south tower, in which they were sleeping (or trying to at least). Outside the wind was howling like a pack of wolves.

"Aye," he responded. "Looks like the few days of winter-sun we enjoyed in Falkreath will soon be over."

"Unfortunately," Lydia sighed. "But I'm not afraid about a little cold. We're a hardy folk, we Nords. A light winter snow won't send us packing."

"That I know," Eirik said, though whether he truly knew or not was up to debate. His childhood, indeed, had been living as a woodsman's son in Falkreath, but his young adult life was spent in Bruma in Cyrodiil, whose winters were never as harsh or their winds as cold as those in Skyrim.

"When we came here, just as the sun was going down," Lydia continued. "I saw dark clouds on the edge of the Velothi Mountains. Big ones too, really dark. A storm is coming, and it won't make our little walk up to High Hrothgar any easier."

Eirik nodded quietly, though the words she spoke did not lighten his heart. They seemed to be agreeing with his fears and with what Ysgramor had said. But Lydia was merely talking about a natural storm, severe and bringing snow to a good deal of Skyrim, but nothing too serious. She was smart and had a kind of perception which Eirik felt that he could never fully understand, but he had not told her about the dream. How did she now and how could she have known to say those exact words at that exact moment to trouble his fears?

* * *

><p>In the morning, they made their way towards the goat-path in the northern side of the mountains that would lead them up into the plateau of the Rift and to Ivarstead, the gateway to High Hrothgar. All the land around them was quiet, though above the dark clouds which Lydia had spoken of were now hanging over the forests and the salt-flats and marshes of Eastmarch, covering the sun and casting a bleak gray upon all the lands. Eirik was tired, for he had slept little that night: Lydia had, in fact, fallen asleep mere moments after their talk, while he stayed up and made sure the horses were secure before idling until exhaustion finally claimed him. Now he had a long ride ahead and had to keep his wits about him in case they were attacked by bandits or wild animals. But no bandit attacks happened and, strangely enough, no wild animals were about to trouble them. Not even the singing of birds could be heard in the trees.<p>

"It's awfully quiet," Eirik pointed out.

"It's winter," Mjoll replied. "Most of the animals are asleep."

"But this is Skyrim," Lydia added. "Usually you can't go less than a mile from your own doorstep before getting mauled or attacked by someone or something. You're right, my thane. It's too damn quiet."

They rode on through the silence, the only sounds being the hoof-falls of their horses and the howling wind of the coming storm. An hour or so passed until they reached the top, coming out near Ivarstead, where Eirik and Mjoll and Esbern of the Blades had escaped from the Thalmor so many months ago, it seemed like a tale of the early Merethic Era, in a time when the world was young and dragons still ruled the land. As they passed into the town, Eirik saw a delegation of men on horse-back, surrounded by soldiers wearing the blue colors of the Stormcloaks. He brought his horse up to where they were gathered and recognized Ulfric Stormcloak sitting atop his horse, with Galmar Stone-Fist at his side, looking grumpy and ornery as usual.

"My lord!" Eirik greeted. "I see that we are just in time for the moot."

"Pah!" Galmar shouted. "Moot indeed! Those milk-drinking, elf-loving Imperial sympathizers won't hold a true moot, not while we threaten them. This is a trap!"

"Peace, Galmar," Ulfric's deep, measured voice commanded his huscarl and captain, then the lord of Windhelm turned to Eirik. "Well met, Dragonborn. I see you have decided to answer the summons as well."

"Aye," Eirik replied. "As I was there at the peace summit, I will be here as well."

"And so are Korir and Skald," Ulfric said, gesturing to two noblemen sitting atop their horses nearby where Ulfric's banner-bearer held aloft the blue banner with the emblem of the bear sewn into the cloth. "Korir finally decided to move from his place, if only for the moot." He looked about, a look of displeasure on his face.

"What's wrong, my lord?" Eirik asked.

"The other Jarls are not here," he said. "At least Balgruuf and Maven should have been here by now, they were close to this place and would certainly have heard the summons." He grumbled in frustration. "Still, while we wait for their arrival, you have much to answer for."

"The dragons," Eirik began. "We all knew that those were a threat, that's why we established the peace summit in the _first_ place!"

"But you left immediately after a settlement was made," Ulfric retorted. "You were not even there to ratify it when it was put into writing. There were many stipulations which were left unchecked when ink was put to paper."

"I know," Eirik groaned. "The people of Riften are still under the yoke of Maven Black-Briar."

"And that sheep's cunt Siddgeir is _still_ Jarl of Falkreath!" Galmar interrupted. "I thought you had that post changed!"

"So did I," Eirik replied. "But it was beyond my power to control."

"A fine excuse," Galmar grumbled. "I knew this peace summit was a mistake."

"Nevertheless," Ulfric replied. "Tullius and his friends will have much to answer for, when they arrive, that is."

"I don't trust this," Galmar said. "The Rift ain't safe, not while it's being controlled by an Empire-loving milk-drinker!"

"Maven Black-Briar is a friend of the Thieves Guild," Mjoll added with disgust. "From what I've heard, she won't care one way or another who controls Skyrim. I doubt she will actively aid them, since the outcome of the civil war is not her concern."

"Call me mad if you wish," Galmar replied. "But mark my words, woman: this has all the makings of a trap."

"The other Jarls need to see," Ulfric added. "That I am not their enemy. I have upheld my end of the treaty and sent no attacks against Imperial holds or known Imperial camps. My presence at this moot, whether it is indeed to decide the High King or not, will show that I am a man of my word."

"Aye," Galmar said proudly. "No true son of Skyrim drew blade or ax upon those Imperial milk-drinkers. I will give my oath of honor to that."

While they waited, a Stormcloak soldier rode up on a horse, dismounted before Ulfric and bowed before him, as was befitting to the office of the High King.

"My lord," he said breathlessly. "There is a large host making swiftly this way from the east, crossing the Treva River on barges. Their banner is the Red Diamond!"

"Imperial dogs," Ulfric said, gritting his teeth, before turning back to his scout. "How many?"

"I couldn't count their numbers, my lord!" the scout answered. "Easily more than three hundred or so."

"Typical Imperial cowardice!" Galmar roared. "They call us to a peaceful moot and they come with soldiers!"

"It might just be an advance guard," Eirik suggested. "There _have_ been many bandit attacks in the Rift."

"You've done well, kinsman," Ulfric said to the scout. "Now go north and see if the mountain pass is secure. We may yet get a chance to flee if the northward path is free."

But at that instant, as the guard was about to go to the northward path, another scout, who had been stationed earlier at the north pass, came flying back up the pass and practically leaped off his horse, ran through the streets of Ivarstead and threw himself at Ulfric's feet.

"My lord," he gasped. "An Imperial host...they've barricaded the path up by Nimalten. They're making their way up the pass...they'll be here in less than ten minutes!"

"Shor's bones!" Ulfric roared. "Well, Dragonborn, what do you say to this? No mere advance guard!"

"We might be able to escape yet," Eirik said.

"Aye," Mjoll spoke up. "I know these woods better than anyone, Aerin and I must have walked the woods of the Rift for many long days on end..."

"Spare me the details," Ulfric said firmly. "We are about to be attacked!"

"Huh? Oh," Mjoll said, a little disappointed at not being able to recount another of her many adventures. "Well, there are at least three ways out of Ivarstead." She walked over to the first scout. "Have they crossed the north bridge?"

"I don't think so," the scout replied, shaking his head.

"We might be able to pass by their right flank," Mjoll said, turning to Ulfric. "If we cross the north bridge and skirt the cliffs on the edge of the Rift plateau."

"Soldiers!" a voice shouted. "They're forming ranks on the other side of Lake Geir!"

All eyes looked south, where they saw the lines of Imperial soldiers forming up on the southern end of Ivarstead. Archers were lining up with the bridge being blocked by legionnaires in heavy armor with spears and Imperial short-swords. The people of Ivarstead, including the hold guards, had ran inside their houses, shutting the doors and locking them behind them for fear of being targeted in the oncoming battle. Suddenly they heard shouts from the east and, to their dismay, they saw lines of Imperial soldiers forming just outside the town upon a hill of stone, clad in leather, steel and crimson, with round or crested helms, bearing black banners with the red diamond upon it. The Red Diamond. Eirik had seen that sigil so many times, even before his return to Skyrim: a dragon with wings positioned like a diamond, that was the emblem of the Empire of Cyrodiil, _the_ Empire as it was known by many, the sign of the Amulet of Kings, Akatosh's divine gift to the Dragonborn emperors that their empire would be safe from the terrors of Oblivion. But the last Septim had died and Titus Mede II was dead. The symbol stood for nothing in Eirik's mind, only the oppression of the Aldmeri Dominion which the Empire, being manipulated by them, brought down upon the people of Skyrim.

Now the small contingent of Stormcloaks - numbering no more than one hundred and fifty - were surrounded. Imperials guarding the bridge to the south and barricaded on the hill to the east, and more making their way up the pass to the north. There was no way of escape, neither to the south-east, wading through Lake Geir under a hail of arrows, nor the west. The Throat of the World would leave them open for arrows from below and, even if they managed to cross around to the western side of the mountain, the paths that high up were not large enough for a host to pass over into Falkreath or Whiterun safely. As they stood, some with swords, axes or shields in hand, waiting for the other to make a move, a small contingent of men on horse-back galloped up the southern bridge and brought their horses up to the center of town, where Ulfric and the others were seated on their horses, surrounded by the Stormcloaks. Among them Eirik recognized two faces from the peace summit.

One was a Nord woman, whose skin was darker than was typical for most Nords. She bore a look of total disdain on her face for all those before her. Hanging around her neck, hidden as she believed it to be, was the chain of an amulet to Talos. This was Rikke, Legate of the Solitude Imperial cohort and lieutenant to the one at her left-hand side. He was pure-blooded Colovian, clad in the crimson and gold armor of the Empire, with short gray hair and a look of utter loathing upon his face as he brought his company to a halt.

"What is the meaning of this, Tullius?" Ulfric asked.

"You know perfectly well, you traitorous scum!" Tullius retorted angrily. "I knew it was a mistake to trust on the honor of you Nords!"

"I demand an explanation for this accusation!" Ulfric shouted. "I have honored the treaty faithfully the past two months, never sending my forces to attack the Empire openly or in secret!"

"Tell that to the women and children of Rorikstead," Tullius said. "Who were slaughtered by _your_ Stormcloaks on the Twenty-First day of this month!"

"Lies, all of it!" Galmar shouted.

"Curb your glib tongue, dog!" Rikke shouted. "Some of their stragglers were captured. They are on their way to Solitude to be executed publicly as an example of what the Empire does to murderers and oath-breakers!"

"But now we have you, Ulfric," Tullius said with a grin on his face. "Your foolish Nordic pride has cost you your life. You should have known that there will be no moot, no discussion on who will be High King: it will be who the Empire deems best. But you, Ulfric Stormcloak, the Bear of Windhelm, we have you trapped, cornered like the dog you are! There will be no dragon to save your life, not this time." He turned back to the legate at his right hand. "Give the order."

"Yes, general!" Rikke answered proudly as she turned her horse back towards the lines of soldiers.

"Let it be known, general," Ulfric replied. "That _you_ have struck the first blow against my people, just as your Empire did when they capitulated to the Thalmor!"

"This is not the first blow, Ulfric," Tullius said venomously. "This is the only blow. Your band of thugs will die here today, but you, I will see you beheaded before the sun sets. There will be no dragging you back to Solitude or Helgen or the Imperial City: you die today, before your poison is allowed to affect the rest of Skyrim!" He then turned in his saddle over to Eirik, and smiled. "Consider this payment for insulting the honor of the Empire with your worthless peace treaty: you have the honor of dying with your false king."

General Tullius turned his horse about and galloped back towards the lines of Imperial soldiers. Eirik saw beyond the archers bending their bows back. The houses of Ivarstead would not provide much protection, and Eirik guessed that, once they had spent their arrows, they would charge in to finish off any who might have survived. At his side, he heard Lydia gulp in grim realization.

"My thane?" she spoke up, turning to him.

"Yes?"

Her lower lip quivered and then she spoke. "It has been an honor to fight at your side." She drew out her sword and gripped the lashes of her shield. "I'll look for you in Sovngarde."

"As will I," Eirik said, gripping the hilt of his Skaal great-sword: Wuuthrad was left behind in Jorrvaskr after the Siege of Volkihar Castle. It seemed to be that the time when this harbinger would wield it no more had now come. He looked at his right and saw Mjoll, Grimsever in her hands and a look of almost eagerness in her eyes.

"This will be a good end," she said, then Eirik heard her voice break slightly. "But I...I had only wished that we could have seen my child. Our child." She looked back at Eirik. When their eyes met, her voice steadied and, though a single tear had slid down her cheek, paving a distorted line across the painted half of her face, there was neither sadness or terror in her eyes. Only a grim realization of what was to be and disappointment of what will never be.

"Is this it?" she asked. "Is this the end?"

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I just had to make a jab at another oft-used epic movie one-liner. I know I used "out there somewherestill out there" in the last story, I swear I won't use "on the move" in this story, unless I am forced to. But the other oft-used one-liner is "a storm is coming." So I used it, but somewhat criticized its use, since it's been done to death so many times, it just starts to get boring.)**

**(Nothing really big happening so far, except until the end. I will leave it there and pick up with the next chapter. Don't worry, though.)**


	4. Bear in Flight

**(AN: Well we obviously got somebody's attention with a review. Glad to see somebody else liked _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_.)**

**(Ugh, I really need to think up of where I'm going with this story. I sat down to write and absolutely nothing is coming to mind.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Bear in Flight<strong>

"No," Eirik said, both to himself and to Mjoll and to Ulfric Stormcloak nearby. "No, this will not be the end." He turned to Lydia and Mjoll. "We've been down that path before, the one by Nimalten. We can cut a path through there, possibly all the way back to Windhelm."

"Through the advancing Imperial lines?" Galmar asked. Then he laughed heartily. "I like your thinking. Death or Sovngarde!"

"That path is narrow," Lydia said quickly, keeping her eyes on the archers beyond. "And the soldiers will be going uphill. We'll have the advantage."

Mjoll laughed. "Then let us do this now," she said. "Before we have to pick our way through a hail of arrows!"

"Give the order, Galmar!" Ulfric said. "Fall back."

"We're retreating?" Galmar asked incredulously.

"We cannot save Skyrim if we are dead," Ulfric replied.

"Think of it this way, Master Stone-Fist," Lydia said. "We're advancing in the other direction. Now let's do it quickly before we lay down in this place forever!"

The order was given and at once the Stormcloaks headed north, towards the small 'goat path' as both Eirik and Crixus had called it so many times over the past several months. The Legion saw that they were moving and orders were soon barked out that they should pursue them. It would, however, take them a while to post a goodly amount of troops in the village, giving the pursuers time to be well along their way down the mountain: but would it be enough?

Down the trail, Ulfric and his men were swiftly fleeing from the pursuing Imperial Legion. No more than four or five abreast or two on horse-back could go down the trail safely. At the front, of course, was Ulfric and Galmar, as well as Eirik, Mjoll and Lydia. Both Mjoll and Lydia were happy that they would not die today, but while Mjoll kept her peace, Lydia could not.

"I knew something would happen, my thane," she said. "I just knew it!"

"Is that why you despaired?" Eirik asked in jest.

"Oh, no, of course not!" she replied. "I knew you would figure something out, I just...well, it seemed as though we were...well, trapped."

"Admit it, Lydia," Eirik chuckled. "You lost faith in me for a moment."

"Will you two knock it off?" Galmar shouted back. "We need to keep our eyes ahead of us. There's still the second Imperial force that we haven't accounted for yet."

"Don't worry, Master Stone-Fist," Eirik said, using the old huscarl's last name as Lydia had done. "I have a plan." He turned to Ulfric. "One which I might require your assistance, my lord."

"A true Nord is self sufficient," Ulfric said grimly.

"And a true king does not shirk to fight alongside his kinsmen," Eirik added. "To say nothing of a High King of Skyrim."

Ulfric chuckled. "You do have a true heart, Dragonborn, despite all of my previous misgivings. What did you have in mind?"

But at that instant, as they were coming towards the over-hang where Eirik and Lydia had engaged a troll on their way here from Whiterun to meet the Greybeards, they saw the town of Nimalten - or what was left of it - and the Imperial garrison surrounding it, with barricades placed and men-at-arms gathering up for the attack.

"Precisely this, my lord," Eirik said, leaping off his horse and drawing his great-sword from his back. "_Fus...Ro Dah!_"

The barricades shattered and those behind them were swept aside by the unrelenting force of Eirik's Thu'um. Noticing this, Ulfric laughed, or made a sound that was like the roaring of a bear, and then dismounted, drawing forth his own sword. But when the Bear of Windhelm opened his lips and spoke the same three words that had shouted down the Reachmen in Markarth and dead king Torygg, his voice was even mightier than Eirik's Thu'um. Whether his mastery of the Voice was indeed greater, though Eirik was the Dragonborn, or whether the natural strength of his voice and the power of his being magnified his shout, no one knew. But when Ulfric spoke "**_Fus...Ro_**_** Dah!**_", the sound shook the trees and sent the stones clattering before them. Those who were caught by his Thu'um were thrown even farther away, breaking themselves against trees and rocks, falling to their deaths or being shattered in their bodies. And, when the two voices shouted at once, the noise was like the roar of seven loud peels of mighty storm-thunder all at once. Imperial soldiers were thrown about here and there, smashing into each other or sailing far down-hill.

"Attack!" Ulfric shouted to his men. "For Skyrim!"

From behind, the hordes of the Stormcloaks, with Galmar Stone-Fist and Mjoll the Lioness and Lydia the huscarl at the vanguard, charged down the hill around them and dove into the foray. A sea of blood and severed limbs quickly erupted as the hunted now became the hunters. Legionnaire training and the finest Colovian armor held no merit before the strength of a people fighting on their homeland with nothing to lose. Nords fell on the Stormcloak side, Nords fell on the side of the Legion, but slowly those with the high ground and with strength on their side were winning out.

"Push on!" Galmar shouted. "We're almost there!"

In the thick of it stood Eirik, shoulder by shoulder with Ulfric Stormcloak, as they cut down the Imperial soldiers right and left. Blood stained the face of the Bear of Windhelm, yet he fought with such fury that Eirik, from personal experience, knew would make the heroes of Sovngarde proud to call him a son of Skyrim. A narrowly-missed sword-swing made Eirik leap back into reality as he realized that he, as was his lord and Mjoll and all the others, a step away from death. He swung at the nearest legionnaire, but his sword was blocked by the shield and then suddenly he was pushed back. A sword shot out from behind the shield, when suddenly a large hand reached out of apparently nowhere, seized the Imperial soldier's hand, bashed it against their helmet, then picked him up and heaved him onto his brothers, sending three of them down to the ground. Eirik turned and saw Galmar towering at his side, grunting in approval before leaping once again into the thickest part of the battle.

The ranks of the Imperials were now in total disarray. Those soldiers who were from the midlands or High Rock dropped their swords, ignoring the orders of their captains that deserters would be shot on sight, and ran back down the hill as fast as they could. Only those Legionnaires of the Nords, who, like their Stormcloak brothers and sisters, believed that Sovngarde awaited those who died in battle, refused to quit the field. But even they were being beaten back, cut down or, in their fright, joined the others in quitting the battlefield. Galmar ordered the men to give pursuit, but Ulfric told him to stand down.

"My lord, we have those dogs on the run!" Galmar retorted. "We should strike now and cut them off before they regroup!"

"Patience, Galmar," said Ulfric again. "We are still yet at a disadvantage. Now that their reinforcements are gone, the Imperials on the plateau will think nothing of dropping arrows or rocks down upon us." He turned back to Eirik, a grim but satisfied look on his face.

"You have done well," he said. "I was wrong to doubt you."

"I did what I had to do," Eirik replied. "No one else would have done any less."

"Hmm, perhaps," Ulfric mused. "But this is not the time for debate. War is upon us once again and it does not bode well for Skyrim."

"What happens now?" Eirik asked.

"I will return to Windhelm," Ulfric said. "And see to the defense of my city. As for you, I will soon expect to see you reporting to the front, and bring that young Riverwood rascal Ralof with you as well. Soon all true sons and daughters of Skyrim must choose where they stand: the Empire has struck first blood once again. Now they must decide if they will stand with their brothers or bow to the Empire and their elvish masters. I hope you will make the right choice, Dragonborn."

Eirik nodded as Ulfric walked back to where a Stormcloak soldier held the reins of his horse and mounted up. Galmar, meanwhile, was walking over to his own horse and Eirik stopped him for a word or two.

"Thank you, Master Stone-Fist," Eirik said. "You saved my life in the midst of the battle."

"It was nothing," Galmar grunted. "Your sword is best left in your hands, slaying the Imperials, rather than lying on your breast in some barrow or on your pyre. Farewell, and, until we meet again, fight or die well. Come to Windhelm soon, kinsmen, for I feel the roads won't be safe after today."

Galmar then took to his horse and gave the order that the Stormcloaks would move out. Shortly the small band, or what was left of them, made their way down the hill while Eirik, Mjoll and Lydia remained behind. He now turned to them. Mjoll, thank the Nines, was unhurt, while Lydia had only taken a minor flesh wound on her arm.

"I've had worse," she brushed off. "Just let me wash this up and get it bound and I'll be alright."

"So what's the plan?" Mjoll asked. "Ulfric Stormcloak has gone his way, now we must go ours as well."

"But where?" Eirik asked.

"We should probably go back to Whiterun, my thane," Lydia spoke up. "It will be Loredas in two days time and you will be expected in Jorrvaskr."

"Love?" Eirik asked, turning to Mjoll. "Which do you suggest?"

"Personally," she added. "We should continue working on saving Riften from Maven Black-Briar. You know, I read that note from Ingun, the strange girl. If this were put in the right hands, Maven would lose favor with the Empire, and they might..."

"No no," Eirik dismissed. "If we get rid of Maven, it will be with a Nord, one who isn't on the Empire's payroll."

"Then I suppose we go to Whiterun, then?" she asked. Eirik noted that she did not add 'or to Dawnstar'.

Eirik sighed. Whiterun was soon becoming a hub around which his life was revolving. Nevertheless, it was still neutral, or was at least _still_ neutral, until word of the hostilities breaking forth arrived, and they would be able to hear more of what would be going on around the other holds in Skyrim.

"Very well," he said at last. "The Bear has gone his way, and we must go ours."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Ugh, that chapter took forever to come out! A lot of it was just fighting, which I hate to write because I have to move EVERYONE involved at the same time. Also, I'm running out of inspiration...<em>again!<em> I mean, I had a plan with _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, while here I am literally on my own. I have some ideas, but nobody would buy them because, in this time, the pure, unadulterated defense of the home from an outside enemy isn't a noble trait, now it's called "nationalism" and frowned upon by one and all [except the extremists who sit in their basements, listening to B***** and practicing their klan rally speeches]. Part of the appeal, for me, about the Dark Ages/the Viking Age [and, by association, Skyrim] is that it was a simpler time where if there were people invading your land or posing a threat, nobody spent time talking about whether it was right or wrong to defend one's country, they just did it! That was my original vision with _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and then it got corrupted and I started putting modern ideas into the story, which didn't fit in, so now I don't know where I'm going.)**

**(Of course, in the last story, Galmar Stone-Fist was the stereotypical Nord, but in this one, he will still be abrasive but a little less so towards Eirik, because this story really gets to see the war go where no one has [probably] ever taken it.)**


	5. A Dangerous Proposition

**(AN: Just a little bit of inspiration from listening to liberal amounts of viking metal and now I'm back, with enough urge to go on for at least one more chapter.)**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dangerous Proposition<strong>

True to Lydia's prediction, a storm soon broke out upon Eastmarch as they were making their way westwards to Whiterun. They covered themselves with their hoods and their cloaks to keep out the rain as they rode on, unwilling to stop for the storm. Prior to the outbreak of the rain, Eirik surmised that they could arrive in Whiterun by evening, just before sunset. Once the rain hit, he chose not to delay for anything and keep on their chosen path. With the Empire soon to be flooding the Nimalten pass, it would not do to be caught anywhere in the vicinity. So it was that they sloshed onward, as the road up to Valtheim pass became muddy and damp beneath the hooves of their horses and the endless pattering on their armor became an annoyance. Nevertheless, they drove their horses onward, sometimes dismounting to lead them uphill on the steep, winding westward path.

The rain carried on all the way to the doors of Whiterun, and they were not spared it as they paid for room for their horses for three days. Nor did it halt as they made their way to Breezehome, and when they had finally climbed inside, they were all soaked and chilled to the bone. Lydia got to work right away with starting a fire while Eirik and Mjoll retired to the master bedroom to change into warmer clothes. While alone, they had a few moments to talk about what had happened lately.

"Can you believe that?" Mjoll asked. "That the Empire would sink to such lows! Pretending to hold a moot to capture Ulfric!"

"Aye," Eirik said as he began removing his armor. "What worries me is what Legate Rikke said. She said that there was an attack on Rorikstead, and that there were prisoners taken back to Solitude."

"Have you considered that maybe they were lying?" Mjoll asked.

"I know not," Eirik answered. "It certainly seems possible. The Empire would want to secure Skyrim as soon as possible, which would give them reason to fabricate an attack. But what bothers me is that they had prisoners!"

"Why does that bother you?"

"They might actually have proof that someone, perhaps Stormcloaks acting independently, _did_ in fact instigate an attack on Rorikstead. But why? It's of no strategic value to either side." He threw his armor down and now stood clad only in his loincloth as he walked over to a large chest and began searching for trousers and a shirt that would be appropriate. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned around. Before him stood Mjoll, clad in a loincloth with a linen sash about her bosom. She looked almost unchanged from how he remembered her: was she not with child? He could not tell from merely looking upon her body.

"It's late, love," she said. "Plenty of time to think and ponder tomorrow. For now, we eat and soon we shall sleep."

"Aye," he replied, leaning in to kiss her as he assayed to retrieve his clothes. Mjoll did likewise and they were soon dressing themselves once more. Mjoll did not wear a dress, but an ankle skirt and a simple tunic, which she found were simple and to her needs. Eirik was placing his shirt over his body when she spoke again.

"What if it wasn't the Stormcloaks who attacked Rorikstead?" Mjoll asked.

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked. "They said that they have prisoners."

"Aside from the fact," she continued. "That the Legate could have been lying, it is as you've said. What do the Stormcloaks gain from attacking Rorikstead? Now the Empire, they would gain the recommencing of their war with the Stormcloaks. If, as you say, the Empire wants to secure Skyrim, it would behoove them to do so as soon as possible."

Eirik did not immediately respond, but her words remained in his mind as he walked downstairs and found Lydia preparing for them stew. Apparently there were still a few good vegetables in the Breezehome pantry for a very light stew. Nothing meaty, but tasty and wholesome enough for the time being. Most of their food had been brought to Lakeview to be stored in the house when completed, and they were rather low on many things. They ate in peace for a moment, with Lydia eating quietly by the door. At last Eirik got up to wash his hands in a basin that Lydia had brought forth when there was suddenly heard a loud commotion outside the doors. He warily made his way to the door and pushed it open. The rain had subsided and he saw a modest throng walking towards the market-square of Whiterun in the Plains District.

Eirik heard voices shouting and quietly made his way down the dark streets, wishing to see what the noise was all about. Behind him Lydia and, lastly, Mjoll followed, until they were now at the back of a small crowd gathered around the well. There, standing upon the edge of the well, Eirik saw several people whom he both knew and cared not for in the least. One was the self-important head of the Battle-Born Clan, old Olfrid. Eirik had seen him strutting the streets of Whiterun very much in his time there: he would often talk about the fame and importance of his clan and how they were the most respected family in all of Skyrim, then turn around and saw that the Grey-Manes knew nothing of their struggle or suffering. He certainly seemed neither struggling nor suffering, clad in green clothes, lined with gold and wearing ermine about his shoulders. Near him was his first-born, Idolaf, whom Eirik knew all too well. He was a fire-brand, as sharp-tempered as the end of his straw beard, and hated the Grey-Manes and the Stormcloaks with as much vigor as Eirik knew from Crixus, yet this man was a Nord. The last man was skin-headed like Crixus, save that he bore a reddish beard which was tied in a knot below his chin. Eirik knew him as Hrongar, brother of Jarl Balgruuf. He had seen him early on in his visits to Dragonsreach as well as at Kodlak's funeral. He was outspoken of his hatred for the Stormcloaks.

"Yes," Olfrid began. "And I say that it is time, kinsmen, sons and daughters of Skyrim, to drive these heathens out from among us!" His words were answered by unanimous cheering from those around him. "This peace treaty has done nothing but allow these Stormcloak bandits to grow in power and influence! The attack on Rorikstead is proof enough of this!"

"This treachery will not go unpunished," Idolaf spoke up. "And mark my words, friends, the Empire will come to this hold. And when they do, all talk of neutrality shall cease! The time for neutrality is over: peace is for women and the dead! Ulfric has shown to the whole world his true colors, those that we, the great clan Battle-Born, wisely knew from the very first, that he is nothing more than a common rebel, a brigand, a murderer who sends your sons off to kill your women and children while you sleep! It is time for all who do not wish to live under a tyrant to stand up with the Empire or be crushed with the Stormcloaks! There is no middle ground! Either you're with the Empire or with the rebels!" More cheers rose up from those around.

"Aye," the deep, thick-accented voice of Hrongar spoke up. "And I, as brother to the Jarl, say that we have been lenient on these rebels for too long. All we have done the past few months has been to talk about the problem and offer piece-meal solutions that only satisfy a few for a season. We must now make a final solution: soon the Empire will be demanding our answer, whether we stand with them or against them. We must welcome them with open arms. The Empire is law and the Stormcloaks have broken that law: we must break them!"

"But what about Talos?" a voice suddenly asked from the crowd. "Will we still get to worship Talos when the Empire comes?"

"Bring that man up here!" Olfrid shouted.

To Eirik's shock, he saw Hrongar stride into the crowd and drag a Nord up onto the edge of the well and hold them aloft for all to see.

"The Empire has spoken!" Olfrid cried out. "Talos is not a god! To call him such is an offense to the Empire! This man is a Stormcloak sympathizer!"

"No, I'm not a rebel!" the man whimpered before the crowd. "I serve the Empire!"

"Shut up, heathen!" Olfrid barked, and Idolaf struck the man in the face. The elder then turned to the crowd, hands held up. "Watch now as we shall demonstrate what will soon happen to all who call on the name of Talos!"

"They fight for a dead emperor," a voice muttered nearby where Eirik stood. Turning, he saw the face of Delphine, whom he had not seen since the peace summit, standing at his side, with her head covered by a hood but her face visible in the light of the torches.

"What brings you from Riverwood?" Eirik asked.

"You, Dragonborn," she replied. "But let's not speak here. Too many ears about."

The four of them now made their way back into Breezehome. Once the door was shut, Eirik told Lydia to lock it as Delphine sat herself down upon the main dining table with Eirik and Mjoll joining her while Lydia kept watch at the door. Delphine was uneasy about speaking in front of so many, but Eirik told her that they were trust-worthy and that, if anything was told in secret, they would know about it eventually. With a frustrated sigh, Delphine spoke at last.

"Esbern is doing well," she said. "He sends his thanks for your suggestion. The Guardians of Skyrim have been the perfect compliment to the new forming of the Blades."

"Is this all you wanted to ask of me?" Eirik asked. "To tell me about your new formation?"

"Have you heard the rumors?" Delphine asked.

"Which ones?"

"There are quite a few, actually," she began. "Some say that there have been dragons sighted in Cyrodiil. There are whispers that the Thieves Guild is at large throughout Skyrim once again. In the west, it is believed that the Forsworn King Madanach has escaped from Cidnha Mine in Markarth. But there's also things that concern both of us, like the death of the Emperor and the start of this war."

"I know of the death of the Emperor," Eirik said. What he did not say was that he knew, or guessed at least, that Crixus, a member of the Dark Brotherhood, had been the one to kill the Emperor.

"I'm sure Esbern could give you the full story," Delphine stated. "But it is old lore among the Blades that we swore our fealty to Reman Cyrodiil, the first Dragonborn Emperor. Whatever they like to say about him, Tiber Septim also was a Dragonborn Emperor and the Blades protected his line as well. But that line has died out and there are no more Dragonborn Emperors, or any of the line left..." She paused, leaning in towards Eirik until she was a few inches away from his face. So close was she that Mjoll looked at her with distrust.

"Except for you."

"What are you saying?" Eirik asked after a long pause.

"Your thoughts on the war aside," Delphine said. "You have been a great help to all of Skyrim, nay, all of Tamriel, in the ending of the dragon crisis. You are the Dragonborn, and with you as the Emperor, it would put an end to the Civil War and give the Blades purpose once again."

"I thought you were dragon hunters," Eirik spoke.

"We might have begun as such," Delphine answered. "But we have also protected the line of the Dragonborn Emperors. There is no Emperor on the Imperial Throne, not even a Dragonborn. The Empire is in a state of disarray, fighting with itself to placate a few Elvish noblemen over a thousand miles away on the Summerset Isles. Think about it! With the throne, you could end the Civil War, make whoever you wish to be the High King, and save all of Tamriel from the menace of the Thalmor."

Eirik sighed. He was not a leader, and he knew that he could not possibly be an Emperor. He was most at home on the battlefield or in the forests, not in a columned palace like the Blue Palace of Solitude or the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil. He could scarcely manage his own house without the endless help of Lydia; how could he hope to manage a whole empire, and one that was falling to pieces? There would be no time for Mjoll for doubtless he would be shoved away into his ivory tower to sign treaties, lead armies, hear grievances and remain under guard of the new Blades. He had a responsibility as Dragonborn, this he knew from both Arngeir and Frea, but was it indeed to take on the burden of all the people in Tamriel?

No, he felt at last. Concerning the dual menace of the dragons and the vampires, it had been his part to play as the protector and defender of Skyrim, as the old songs had always spoken. He had heard of Arngeir's disapproval of the Blades at the peace summit, how they always wished to 'lure' him away from his true destiny. Whatever that was, he mused, would not be found in the White-Gold Tower or in the austere stone halls of Sky Haven Temple. His calling was elsewhere, and it was not leading the Empire.

The Empire: the thought flashed into his mind almost immediately as Delphine of the Blades sat before him. Why was it that every statue of Talos showed him tramping a serpent beneath his feet? Why was the Red Diamond a dragon? Why had Vilja of Solstheim said those particular words to him in the Hall of Shor?

"If you're looking for an emperor," he said at last. "I'm not the person you should be seeking."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I've been investigating a little bit on the uncompleted things from <em>Skyrim<em> and learned a wealth of information. For one, Hrongar was supposed to replace Balgruuf after the Mephala quest had _all_ of Balgruuf's brats kill him. For another thing, Elisif was supposed to be killed by daedra. While I'm not sure if that should happen, big things will definitely happen in this story. Also, on a side-note, this is actually _in_ the game and NOT cut-content: Olfrid Battle-Born refers to Stormcloaks as "heathens" if the Stormcloaks take Whiterun. Now, if the Empire wins the war, we see that there are some of them that still worship Talos [like Legate Rikke and, possibly, Hadvar], but not Clan Battle-Born! No, they have their lips firmly planted on the asses of both the Empire _and_ the Dominion that they've forsaken Talos, going so far as to call those who worship him "heathen", little better than "Forsworn" or "daedra worshiper". I mean, it's like they believe in the non-divinity of Talos as much as the Thalmor do!)**

**(Another short chapter, I know, but long ones just aren't coming to me. Oh well, maybe they will later on the story. Tried to keep the ending a bit vague, though, knowing you readers, you'll probably crack it wide open.)**


	6. Coming Home

**(AN: Just when I thought my brother couldn't get any _more_ racist, we were discussing Bethesda's blatant bias towards the Empire and against both the Stormcloaks and the Nords as a people in general in _Skyrim_, in that the Empire is depicted as strong, intellectual and open-minded, whereas the Nords are depicted as brutal, savage, drunken, ignorant, back-stabbing, traitorous, backwards, racist and generally xenophobic, and the Stormcloaks being the worst of the bunch. And do you know what his answer to this was? "Well, that's just the way it is maybe because it's true?")**

**(Things might be happening rather quickly, especially in this chapter, but that is because while Eirik has been fighting vampires and gaining titles and land, the Empire have not been idle.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Coming Home<br>**

Delphine left roughly an hour after returning from the rally outside Whiterun. Both Lydia and Mjoll were surprised at what Eirik had said, but none of them chose to speak on it because, before leaving, Delphine gave them all a few parting words.

"Whatever you may have heard here tonight," she began. "Never repeat it to anyone else beyond these walls. Your lives, and, quite possibly, the lives of everyone in Tamriel, may hinge on the keeping secret of what has been spoken. Never tell another soul!"

It was only when every one of them agreed to never breathe a word of what they had heard that Delphine was satisfied and left Breezehome. After she left they ate a quiet but warm meal, and then made their way to their beds. As Mjoll and Eirik made their way to their room, there was suddenly a shout and Lydia came tumbling back onto them from out of her room. From out of the door there appeared a pale-blue skinned mer woman, who was angrily shouting at Lydia in a language that none of them could comprehend. She was clad in only a bed-sheet which one hand held tightly around herself while the other clutched the partially open door. Eirik noticed that her ankle was bound.

"Shor's balls!" Lydia exclaimed. "What is that and where did it come from?"

"She belongs to Crixus," Eirik said. "He rescued her from the Falmer dens in the Wrothgarian Mountains."

"This?" Lydia asked incredulously. "This? What is it, though? It's an elf, certainly, but I've never seen an elf like that."

"What is she saying?" Mjoll asked.

"I can't speak Elvish!" Eirik said, his weariness and this elf's behavior starting to aggravate him.

"No one can," Lydia said. "As far as I know of, except maybe Irileth or Jenassa."

"Look, we're too tired to do anything right now," Mjoll said. "We can figure that out in the morning, okay?"

"Aye," Eirik said.

"What are you going to do?" Lydia asked. "Shove her back into _my_ room? Where am I going to sleep?"

"Sleep in our room!" Mjoll replied. "Just get her inside!"

"Do it, Lydia," Eirik added.

She sighed. "I am _sworn_ to your service, my thane!"

With a shout, she ran at the elf with her shoulder, knocking the small-framed mer back onto Lydia's bed. Before the elf could retaliate, Lydia strode back and slammed the door shut, pushing her shoulder against it while Mjoll dragged a chair up from the wall and shoved it against the door handle. Both of them collapsed against the door, sighing in exhaustion. It had been a long day and they had ridden far in the rain after a hard fight with the Empire. Eirik offered them both a hand up, which Lydia took but Mjoll refused.

"So, then," Lydia asked. "Where do _I_ get to sleep?"

They all retired to the master bed-room, where Lydia fell asleep on her chair while Eirik and Mjoll crawled between the covers. The straw beneath their bed sheet crinkled crisply under the weight of their bodies as they slid closer to each other. For a while they lay between the covers as Lydia nodded off silently in her favorite chair. Mjoll then turned around, propping her head up with her right hand while the left caressed Eirik's chest.

"I suppose this means we won't be able to be returning to Lakeview any time soon," Mjoll said.

"Aye," Eirik sighed. "Listen, love, I'm sorry I didn't do as you had asked...as we had agreed upon. Things got out of hand, and now _this_ has happened!"

"No need to apologize, love," Mjoll replied assuredly. "I know I've been hard on you lately. I should be the one to apologize."

"If it means anything," Eirik said. "I will try to ask Ulfric if I can be posted the Pale. That area could possibly see action before the year is out and it will allow you to accompany me as far as Dawnstar."

Mjoll's face lit up with a smile at this. "You know, you don't have to do this. I'm perfectly capable of going on my own."

"I know," Eirik sighed. "But now that the war has begun anew, it won't be safe to go about Skyrim alone. And..." Eirik turned his head towards Mjoll. "...and I would much rather have you at my side."

"Why?"

"Because there's no one else I'd rather trust with my life than you," Eirik said.

Mjoll's smile widened. "And I feel the same way about you. But do you indeed feel that way about me? You had Lydia as your huscarl long before we met."

"Love," Eirik answered. "If I had not meant those exact words, I would not have said them." He sighed. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to know where we stand, you and I," she replied. "I know that I'm Riften's protector, but even there I have failed to keep her from Maven Black-Briar and the Thieves Guild. I wasn't strong or brave enough to venture into Mzinchaleft to find Grimsever on my own, so I feel that I have failed as an adventurer. What then am I? Am I just the wife of the Dragonborn, the mother of your child?"

"You're much more to me," Eirik said.

"What am I, then?"

"You're the one who has my back in the thick of battle," Eirik began. "You keep me fighting faster and harder, eager to keep up with you."

"Is that all I do, though?" Mjoll asked.

Eirik groaned. "Please, I am weary, as I am sure you're weary as well. Can we not discuss this tomorrow, after we've both rested?"

Mjoll's smile faded and she rolled back onto her back, looking up at the roof. Eirik tried to say something, but no appropriate words came to mind. What she had said baffled him greatly. Mjoll was everything to him, he had said as much as that just now: how could she not understand how important she was? And why, furthermore, after all they had been through, was she asking this now?

He looked over at his servant, sleeping in her chair, and thought about her for a while. She was his huscarl and obeyed his commands, sometimes begrudgingly but she was still trust-worthy and loyal. She seemed just as strong as Mjoll - though Lydia, having fought at Eirik's side in Sovngarde against Alduin, would have said stronger - and was no less skilled in the art of warfare. Still, there was one thing in which she was different from Mjoll the Lioness. Ever since he met her, Eirik felt as though he was in a constant struggle to win her trust and, eventually, her love: it was a struggle which he felt as though he was always losing. On the eve of his departure, it seemed as though the struggle had ended, but now, with Mjoll's words, that struggle seemed to have begun anew. There was no struggle with Lydia: whether by reason of her office or by how seriously she took the honor of her people, Lydia did not seem to have a problem trusting her lord.

These thoughts and more flooded his mind until at last sleep closed his eyes and he remembered nothing else.

* * *

><p>Eirik dreamed of a dark cave somewhere deep beneath the earth. The rocks were strangely warm and he saw something red nearby. He was moving along, though he felt heavier than usual. He was looking for something, though he could neither speak nor guess intelligently as to what it could be. At last he saw what looked like a tunnel leading down and out. A desire came over him to go that way, until suddenly he felt a hand upon his cheek. Eyes creaking open, he saw Lydia standing over him. She was clad in her armor with her shield upon her back and sword upon her belt, with a bandolier across her shoulder and a belt with several leather pouches girt about her loins. A woolen cloak was upon her back, though the hood had not been thrown up. Slowly Eirik rose, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as Lydia roused him first. Upon seeing Lydia dressed ready as it were to leave at a moment's notice, he asked her about her garb.<p>

"Shor's blood, Lydia," he groaned. "Why are you dressed for journey?"

"Shh!" she shushed. "We need to leave now and quickly."

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked. "I have to be in Jorrvaskr today. The Companions."

"The White take the Companions!" Lydia replied. "_You_ are in serious danger, my thane!"

"What do you mean?" he asked again. Lydia brought over a candle from the dresser and held it over the bed, while presenting Eirik with what looked like a proclamation written in the Common Tongue. This was what was written upon it.

_Be it known that Hrongar has replaced Balgruuf the Elder as Jarl of Whiterun. In conjunction with this declaration, the Empire of Tamriel is pressing its right to quarter troops in the city of Whiterun and the towns of its hold for the swift annihilation of the Stormcloak rebellion. Furthermore, under the terms of the White-Gold Concordant, the statue of Talos in the Wind District of Whiterun is to be torn down and all worship in open or secret of the man Talos is hereby made unlawful. Those caught worshiping Talos openly or in secret shall be counted among the Stormcloaks and immediate action shall be carried out by the appropriate authorities.  
><em>

_Proventus Avenicci, Steward of Hrongar, Jarl of Whiterun_

Eirik rubbed his eyes, hoping in vain that what he was seeing was merely a dream. But this was worse than a dream. He was staring at a death warrant as the only hold in Skyrim which, prior to the signing of the peace treaty, had remained solely neutral, was now being sold to the Empire. He had met Hrongar in Dragonsreach several times, but found him to be, apart from very vehement about the traditions of the Nordic people, more or less uninteresting. He said very little while Eirik was around and absolutely nothing about Balgruuf's rude children.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"Just what it says," she began. "I went outside when I heard someone shouting. Must have been a few minutes ago. There's Imperial soldiers marching all through the Plains District. There's a press of soldiers around the market-place, it's completely sealed off."

"How could this have happened so quickly?" Eirik asked.

"Plenty of time to talk about it when you're safely out of Whiterun," she replied. "Come on, help me with Mjoll."

"What about the elf?" Eirik asked. "I feel like..."

"Well, we should probably take her with us," Lydia answered. "I don't like the idea of leaving her in my room. Besides, it's befouled, everything will have to be burned before I can get the room back: the sheets, the blankets, my bed..."

Eirik roused Mjoll from her sleep and told her in brief what Lydia had told him. As she began rising, Eirik was up and cladding himself in his dragon-bone armor. It would be heavy and he would have to wear a large, thick cloak to keep it concealed, but he refused to leave it behind. The Skaal steel great-sword went on his back as well as a few papers from his desk in the sack which hung from a sling on his shoulder by his sword.

"You'll have to take the Bloodskal blade, Lydia," Eirik said. "And Dawnbreaker."

"Why am I always the one asked to carry everything?" Lydia retorted. "Why can't you get her to carry anything? She's bigger than me and can carry more gear than I can!"

"Didn't you just say we have no time?" Eirik asked.

Lydia groaned. "Fine. I mean, after all, I am _sworn_ to..."

"Shut up and pack!" Mjoll groaned, still half asleep.

In ten minutes, they had gathered all precious weapons and items from their chests and drawers and wrapped themselves in warm cloaks for the journey. It was still the wee hours of darkness before the dawn and a chill wafted through the boards of the house. They could light no torches, for Lydia said that the streets were still crawling with Imperial soldiers. Lastly, Lydia and Eirik wrestled the elf out of Lydia's room, bound her mouth with a sheet of cloth from Lydia's bed, much to Lydia's chagrin, and tied her hands behind her back before throwing a large cloak over her thin frame. They then took a length of rope and tied it around the elf's waist and charged Lydia with the holding of the rope.

"Another burden for me to carry," she groaned under her breath. "Just great."

Once all was in readiness, Eirik gently pushed open the door and looked outside. True to the report of his huscarl, the Plains District of Whiterun was in chaos. Imperial soldiers marched up and down the street, a loud argument was going on between an officer and Adrianne Avenicci out front of Warmaiden's, while in the square of the market-place, Eirik saw once again Idolaf Battle-Born and his father Olfrid standing on the well, the elder reading out further declarations of the new order.

"'Be it known,'" Olfrid said. "'That, of this day, the twenty-fourth of Morning Star, in the two-hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, that all lands and titled belonging to Clan Gray-Mane have been stripped by the authority of Jarl Hrongar and given to Clan Battle-Born.'"

"Long live the Empire!" Idolaf shouted proudly, pounding his fist against his chest before delivering a salute with right arm outstretched and palm held open.

"'Be it known also,'" Olfrid continued. "'That every young man of age in the city of Whiterun shall be pressed into service of the Imperial Legion and sent to the nearest camp for training.'"

"Long live the Empire!" Idolaf repeated, gesturing the same salutation.

"'Be it also known,'" Olfrid finished. "'That, under the terms of the White-Gold Concordant, a representative from the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar Hold shall be placed in Whiterun to oversee that the unlawful worship of the tyrannical and false-god Talos is not...'"

"Traitors!" a voice cried out. "All of you! How _dare_ you call yourselves sons of the Empire by betraying the man, nay, the _god_, who founded this great empire!"

"Shut up, Heimskr!" Idolaf retorted. From where Eirik watched, he saw Idolaf strike a man in the yellow robes of a priest being held between two Imperial soldiers.

"You've sold us all out to the elves!" Heimskr retorted. "Do you foolishly believe that they will merely stop with the outlawing of the worship of Talos?"

"The _Empire_," Olfrid said, not bothering to hide his contempt. "Has ruled. All those who worship Talos are heathens and barbarians, to share in punishment with the rebels! Now, Heimskr, do as your countrymen have done. Bend your knee to the Empire or lose your head!"

"I will never bend my knee to any elven master!" Heimskr replied brazenly. "Talos is my guide and protector. Talos will..."

The voice of Heimskr was silenced and then the voice of Idolaf was raised in laughter. Eirik saw the straw-haired Idolaf reach up and pull the head of an old Nord from up off the ground, the head that was no longer attached to a body.

"Where is your dead god now, Heimskr?" Idolaf taunted, then held the head aloft to the others. "Let this be a sign for you all! The Empire has come to save us all from the rebels! Join the Empire, your rightful lords and masters, or be cut down with the Stormcloaks! Long live the Empire!"

Voices rose in cheer, chanting "Long live the Empire!" over and over. During the noise, Eirik pushed the door open as Mjoll, Lydia and the elf followed after him. They turned left towards the gates, while Eirik made his way up towards the Wind District. Lydia hissed after him but he made no sound. Meanwhile he made his way up towards the Wind District, passing the guard house on the left and coming at last where there were fewer Imperial soldiers yet. He made his way towards the Gildergleam's large wooden pergola where he saw a black-robed Thalmor ordering several Imperial soldiers in the tearing down of the large statue of Talos that had always stood before Jorrvaskr.

"Hail, citizen," a voice said nearby. Eirik nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw an Imperial soldier standing next to him, looking on at the destruction of the statue.

"I know this might seem as a bit of a shock to you," the soldier said. "But it's for the best. What those damn Stormcloaks like to forget is that the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim."

"Aye?" Eirik asked. "Then who is that black-robed elf directing Imperial soldiers to tear down the statue of Talos?"

"Don't be a fool," the soldier replied. "They're only here because of Ulfric's little rebellion. The Empire is sick of war, we want peace and we will do so by any means necessary, if we have to, and work with the Dominion if need b..."

The soldier said no other word as Eirik struck him in the face once with his fist, sending him stumbling back. Another powerful strike to the chin sent the Colovian down to the ground, after which Eirik angrily gave him one last kick, then pointed at the Thalmor.

"You people are blind," he said. "The Thalmor don't want peace, and you're being used by them to further their own ends."

"Shor's bones, my thane!" Lydia hissed loudly near at hand. Turning about, Eirik saw that she had ran up the incline and was near at hand, trying to keep a good grip on the elf's rope. "Why are you running _towards_ the Imperials? We need to leave _now!_"

"I'm not leaving without the Companions," replied Eirik.

"We _have_ to leave now!" Lydia retorted. "If you're caught, they'll kill you! Come on, my thane! We have to hurry!"

Eirik closed his eyes and turned away from the destruction of Talos, reluctantly following Lydia back down the incline towards the gates. Unfortunately, as they were nearing the gates, they saw that they had been closed and a detachment of Imperials were now waiting for them, barring the only way out of Whiterun.

"Halt!" one shouted out, speaking the voice of a Nord. "This here gate's off limits. The city's under marshal law until further notice. Return to your home."

"Take 'em out, my thane!" Lydia whispered.

"What did you say?" one of the guards asked.

"Now is not the right time," Eirik hissed.

"Hey! No whispering!" the Imperial Nord said. "One would think you're a rebel, if you carry on like that."

"Do it, now!" Lydia whispered.

"That's enough of that, now."

"I say we take 'em now," the Nord said. "They don't look right."

"_They_ don't look right?" the other one asked. "All you Nords look alike, what's to make this one any less 'right' than the others?"

"Shout them down!" Lydia whispered. "Quickly, before they get the whole town after us!"

"No, that _would_ alert the whole town!" Eirik whispered. He remembered the images from his dream, then once again the desire to enter Jorrvaskr came over him.

"This way," he said.

"Wait, _back_?" Lydia asked incredulously.

"Aye, that's right, milk-drinker!" taunted the Imperial Nord. "Go back to your home and stay there before we arrest you!"

"Love, just where are we going?" Mjoll asked. "I get woken up in the wee hours of the morning, dragged out of bed and ran through a darkened street filled with Imperial soldiers, and now we're going back again?"

"Jorrvaskr," Eirik whispered. "We're going to Jorrvaskr."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I had originally given this chapter another title, but decided that it gave the wrong ideas in the long run. The problem a lot of people [including my brother] have with the Civil War in <em>Skyrim<em> is that it never seems real, and, for me, you can postpone the war indefinitely in lieu of the main quest, _Dawnguard_, _Dragonborn_, Thieves Guild, etc. And, if you do the main quest solely, the war doesn't really become an issue until the third act. So I felt that it should come home to our heroes in a way. It also builds up the story with some interesting twists.)  
><strong>

**(As far as characters go, I feel that, while Lydia got her big moment in the main quest in the last story, she might want/need something else in this story. Also, Mjoll felt too plain and uninteresting in the last story. Aside from what will definitely happen [if any of you read _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, there might be a clue or two about what might happen soon], I feel like she needs something more to her besides her power [which is now obsolete]. I mean, she's charitable and strong in battle, but I feel like that's not enough. Of course I wouldn't feel right about making a super-Mjoll, but I want her to be still "lawful good" aligned but interesting. These days, interesting for a morally good character means that they're secretly evil or being misled or something, and I don't like that.)  
><strong>

**(As you can see, I loathe Idolaf. Aside from the fact that he looks like someone whose name we do not speak of, he is a dick. He complains about the Stormcloaks when Whiterun is neutral, he threatens violence against the Dragonborn if the peace treaty is done, he complains if the Stormcloaks take Whiterun...and even if you win with the Empire and slay Ulfric [as so many of my readers want to happen], guess what? Idolaf is _still_ complaining! On top of that, like Balgruuf, he's a horrible parent. But, like with Crixus, he supports the Empire, so my readers obviously love him [and most of them probably love said person of whom we do not speak, so they probably think Idolaf is "hot" as well -ugh-]) **


	7. Escape from Whiterun

**(AN: In other news, I saw one of the trailers for _Elder Scrolls Online_, the one with the daedric armies being taken out by three warriors [a Breton assassin, an Elf mage and a NORD!] and I just realized how bad-ass Nords are supposed to be. I know I made Eirik a bit weaker in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, but someone really complained that I made him too strong by taking out a Thieves Guild crony with one punch. And then you look at that bad-ass Nord from the trailer [not even a Dragonborn] and come on, one punch to an inexperienced pickpocket sent by the Thieves Guild doesn't seem that big of a deal. I need to step up my game as far as Nordic bad-assery!)**

**(No, I'm not going to play _ESO_. I just decided to take a break from tumblr so i'd have time to work on college classes and, of course, this, as well as looking for a job and trying to start a band. Apart from that, I'm all worn out of MMORPGs thanks to _World of Warcraft_. Seriously, though _Everquest_ or _DnD_ started MMORPGs way back when, it was _World of Warcraft_ that catapulted that genre into popularity and made all the other companies drop their current gaming series line to pump out another MMORPG to compete with _World of Warcraft_. Because of this, there is a saturation of MMORPGs on pretty much everything [_Star Wars_ has _The Old Republic_, _Star Trek_ has _Star Trek Online_, _Lord of the Rings_ has _Lo__rd of the Rings Online_, we now have _Elder Scrolls Online_ for the _Elder Scrolls_ series, there was even going to be a MMORTS for _Generals 2_ but EA decided to 86 that and crush all the hopes of _Command and Conquer_ fans everywhere who wanted something better than _CnC4: Tiberium Twilight_. Of course, it will only be a matter of time before we have _Soul Calibur Online_, the MMORPG version of the Tale of Souls and Swords.])**

**(But, my rant on MMORPGs aside, seeing that trailer gave me a desire to continue writing about _Elder Scrolls_ lore, so here it goes...)**

* * *

><p><strong>Escape from Whiterun<br>**

They flitted from house to house in the dim light of early morning. The guard Eirik had punched would shortly be missed and someone would doubtless be sent to look for him. There was little time to think or plan out which way they would go, only enough time to see what they could in the dim light of the pre-dawn and make their plans accordingly. From house to house they went, hiding behind each house as they made their way behind the bulk of the Gildergleam. Just a yard or two away they could see the Imperial soldiers grunting and groaning as they pulled upon the ropes tied to the statue of Talos. Eirik looked away, willing himself instead to look towards Jorrvaskr. There were no signs of Imperials stationed outside or around it and all the attention of the nearest soldiers were on the statue.

"I think we can make it," Eirik whispered. "Just a quick dash up the stairs to Jorrvaskr and then we'll be safely behind the walls." He turned back to Mjoll and Lydia. "Stay down and keep it quiet, that means you too, Lydia!"

"When have I ever not been quiet in these moments?" Lydia asked.

"Don't start up with me," Eirik grunted. "Besides, you're carrying the elf, you've got more to look after. Now let's stay focused. Stay low and wait until they heave together to move."

From the moment the Thalmor justicar shouted "Heave!", Eirik was creeping along behind the lines, coming to a swift half when they paused. Then there was the cry again and off he went, up the stone steps as quickly and quietly as he could. By the time of the third heave, Eirik was already behind the stone wall surrounding the hall of Jorrvaskr. He looked back as the Imperials continued heaving and Mjoll made her way up next. She moved swifter and was at Eirik's side after only two heaves. Lydia brought up the rear, dragging the elf after her. For one reason or another, the elf, who had put up a bit of a fight at first but was now quietly allowing herself to be led, was now straining against the rope. At least three heaves in, the statue's head was pulled off and several of the Imperial soldiers stumbled back upon Lydia. Moving swiftly, she pushed the elf to the ground, then crept away as they were recovering and dragged the elf up the steps as they returned to the ropes.

"You certainly took your time," Eirik said.

"It's this one," she said, looking at the elf behind her. "She's causing a fuss every step closer I get to the hall!"

"Well do something, then," Eirik returned. "Pick her up, carry her, anything! We just need to get to those doors quickly!"

"Here, let me do it," Mjoll said, rolling her eyes. The Lioness then rose to her feet and lifted the elf onto her shoulders. She was rather light, considering how emaciated she had been as a Falmer and her naturally light, elvish frame which was smaller than Mjoll's battle and journey-hardened body. Lydia dropped the rope and the three of them made their way to the gates of Jorrvaskr, to which Eirik possessed the key, being Harbinger. The key had not begun to rattle within the lock when the door was opened and there stood Vilkas, clad in the wolf armor of the Inner Circle, with a sword in his hands.

"Oh, it's you," he greeted. "Hail, Harbinger. Please, come inside. Quickly!"

He opened the door a bit wider, allowing them to enter Jorrvaskr. Once they were inside, Vilkas shut the door and locked it. As he was, Aela, Farkas and two others came up from the basement.

"It's alright," he said to them. "It's Eirik the Harbinger."

"Hail Harbinger," Aela greeted. "Your timing couldn't have been worse."

"I've noticed," Eirik said. "Can someone tell me what's happening?"

"What, the Empire?" Aela began. "After the battle with those vampires, the rest of us went back to Jorrvaskr. While on the way, we saw a legion or two on its way south to Whiterun."

"Earlier this month," Eirik mused aloud. "It seems the Empire haven't been entirely honest about keeping their end of the peace treaty. They were planning the take-over of Whiterun long in advance, and they only needed an excuse to carry it out."

"What does this mean for us?" Vilkas asked.

"What do you mean?" Eirik replied.

"We all know of your affiliation with the Stormcloaks," Vilkas began. "But I doubt that you know of the great burden that is upon your shoulders as Harbinger. Mryfwill the Withdrawn made it so that the Companions should not be party to any war or political conflict of any kind. It has been that way ever since, including in the days of Kodlak."

"And?"

"Are you on the run from the Empire?" Vilkas asked. "Is it your will that we debase our ancient office as impartial arbiters of honor to join some petty squabble over dead gods?"

"I need to get out of Whiterun," Eirik stated.

"Why?" Vilkas retorted. "Are they after you?"

"No," Eirik replied. "But if there's one thing my mentor taught me, it was that a wise man sees the signs of oppression and leaves that he may fight rather than allow himself to be shackled under their yoke."

"Some might say," Farkas spoke up. "That those are the words of a coward and a milk-drinker."

"They're also the words of a smart hunter," Aela added.

"Your words fill me with suspicion," Eirik said to Vilkas. "The Empire have been planning this take-over for a while, I see. But for my part, it will no longer be safe for me in Whiterun. I will have to leave, and my family with me."

"And what of us?" Vilkas asked.

Eirik paused to consider what Vilkas was saying. Though he had been silent as far as the Greybeards with their platform of non-involvement during the Civil War - especially after he heard the story of Jurgen Windcaller and met him in person in the Hall of Valor - the Companions were not hermits dedicated to Kyne and the peaceful use of the Voice. They were warriors and the battlefield was where the warrior belonged. A fear had overcome him that his usefulness would fade after slaying Alduin, but now, with the war seemingly back on in full force, the blood of the warrior burned hot within his veins. He was needed and he would not stand idly by while war reared its ugly head once again. Though he feared outliving his usefulness and was coming around to accepting idea of settling down with Mjoll in Falkreath and raising a family, war was the only way now. But the things he had seen and heard during his time with Crixus returned into memory; all of them from the taunts of being a blood-thirsty, war-mongering, drunken Nord to how the Empire _needed_ to win the war. It _needed_ to win, for the stability and greater good of the Empire.

"You may do as you have done since the days of old," Eirik said, addressing them all. "This war is not about the elves and their hatred of Talos, it's about the life and death of the Empire. But mark my words: if this war ends badly for the Empire, you will have the Dominion to deal with, and they will not allow you to remain unmolested by reason of non-involvement. And what will you do then?"

"We will fight them, as we have fought all of our enemies in the past," Farkas said.

"And if you fall?" Eirik asked.

"Then we die," Aela answered. "And we go to the Hunting Grounds, or Sovngarde or whatever damned place Athis believes Dunmer go to when they die."

"Aela!" Vilkas hissed back at his shield-sister.

"What?" Aela asked. "They know about it." She gestured to Mjoll and Lydia.

"But they're not part of the Inner Circle!" he replied.

"Maybe we should make them part of the Circle?" Aela suggested with a chuckle. "They certainly spend quite a bit of time around us to be counted shield-sisters, whether by right or not." She looked over both Mjoll and Lydia. "You and me, Lioness, should share a drink in Jorrvaskr whilst we compare our scars. And you, huscarl, I bet you should knock some respect into Njada Stone-Arm."

Lydia chuckled at this statement, though Mjoll, carrying the struggling elf on her shoulder, said nothing. Eirik, meanwhile, was not in the mood for small talk.

"Can we use the Underforge to escape from Whiterun?" Eirik asked. "We'll find our own horses, but we just need to use the Underforge."

Vilkas sighed. "You know the way. But don't expect us to come to your aid if you decide to pick a fight with the Empire."

Eirik made no immediate response, but turned his attention to Aela. "Until I return, you are to act in my stead as the Harbinger. If any question of rule or honor arises, I ask that you judge wisely, honor the traditions of the Companions and show respect to your fellow brothers and sisters of the shield. If I do not return, choose whom you will to be your new Harbinger and follow him as well as you have followed me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Harbinger," Aela nodded.

Turning them to the others, Eirik made for the door back out of Jorrvaskr when he saw Lydia seeming as though she would linger behind. He turned and walked over to his huscarl.

"Yes?" he asked.

"You said you needed to leave," she replied. "You and your family."

Eirik smiled. "You_ are_ family, Lydia." He held out his left hand, the one that didn't wipe his ass when shitting, and offered it to Lydia. With a smile, she took his hand firmly with her left hand.

This done, they made their way out of the doors of Jorrvaskr and turned towards the great rocky shelf upon which stood the Skyforge. They had not walked within the shadow of the great eagle-like rock formation when suddenly the elf upon Mjoll's shoulders began kicking and squirming and screaming as loudly as she could through the gag.

"Hurry!" Lydia cried from the rear. "Half of Whiterun heard that cry!"

Eirik ran to the wall of the great stone shelf and looked for an opening. He found a small niche which gave slightly as his hand pressed upon it, which sent a stone door hidden in the rocky wall, to slide open for them. Mjoll rushed in first, carrying the elf, while Lydia followed shortly afterwards. Eirik came up last, pulling the great pull-chain within to seal the stone door behind them. How long it was before their pursuers discovered how to open the Underforge, or if the Companions would reveal its secret to the Imperials if they asked, Eirik knew not.

"Which way?" Lydia asked.

"To the right," Eirik stated, as the memories of this room came rushing back into his mind.

It would not be long now. They turned right and made their way through the tunnel that wound its way through the side of the hill upon which Whiterun was built. The tunnel terminated in a rather heft drop of seven feet to the bottom of the ground. Eirik leaped out first, then turned to Mjoll and helped bring the elf down after them. The Lioness and Lydia then followed suit, climbing down out of the tunnel onto the high ground at the foot of the hill of Whiterun. Dawn was still far away, but the blue of early morning was starting to gather in the sky in the east. In the dim light they saw that the tunnel terminated out of the base of a tower on the wall of Whiterun, against which they rested for a spell.

"Alright, we've made it," Eirik sighed in relief once they were out of Whiterun.

"Which way do we go now?" Mjoll asked. "The Rift won't be safe for us, and it would be too risky to go south back to Falkreath, especially if what we've heard about Jarl Siddgeir is true."

"I still feel as though we've been followed," Eirik said. There were no sounds of pursuit, but then again all of Whiterun was in chaos from the take-over that it would be almost impossible for them to discern if they were being pursued.

"If that's the case," Mjoll replied. "We won't be getting anywhere without horses."

"I can run down to the stables," Lydia said. "And see if I can get our horses free for us. With your permission, my thane."

"Of course! Go right ahead." said Eirik.

Eirik and Mjoll remained behind with the elf between them while Lydia ran along the south-eastern edge of the wall of Whiterun, making her way towards the stables. The minutes ticked away like hours, and both Eirik and Mjoll would have become bored if not for the danger into which they had fallen. At least half an hour passed before Lydia appeared again, leading two horses by the bridle. She explained to them that she couldn't get more than two, having only two hands and seeing as how the ascent to Whiterun was also filled with Imperials and she had barely made it back. Eirik did not press the matter but told them that they would mount up swiftly and depart north, for the snows of the Pale.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Yay, a new chapter. And I got to have a light and funny moment based on Lydia's behavior in the game with the whole sneaking around the Imperials tearing down the statue of Talos. Also yay for no reviews! I think there might have been like one already, but I've been updating quite a bit and still no reviews. Glad to know this story is off to such a great start. At least <em>The Dragonborn and the Lioness<em> had a bunch of pissed off Imperial-loving _Morrowind_ hipsters criticizing every decision I made reviewing every chapter. I know I've made a few blatant errors that I haven't fixed [I'll get to _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, just wait], but some of them don't fit right. Like when I said that using the expletive "hell" rolled off the tongue easier than "Oblivion" and it seemed like lame, cheesy _Syfy_ original B-movie shit to say "Go to Oblivion!" I've always heard "concordant", and unless we're going with my Christianization of Scandinavia analogy and the Dominion really are the Catholic Church, it would be "concordant" over "concordat". Also this is one of those rare occasions where I pull the "this is my fan-fic and I can do what I want" card [which I rarely ever do] and say that "justicar" is easier to pronounce and quicker to say than "justiciar".)**

**(I know I talk about my brother and his opinions of _Skyrim_ a lot, but that's because he's the only one I can talk to about it. Oi, well anyway, here's another question for you all [all one of you, lol]: how great do you believe was the extent of the damage the Dominion wrought upon Cyrodiil during the Great War? The game lore seems to say it was quite extensive, with cities being burned, the Imperial City sacked and the White-Gold Tower damaged. My brother, in another moment of hypocritical head-canon, believes that the Dominion were so strong that the Empire was forced to sign the White-Gold Concordant, but yet they were not strong enough to inflict lasting damage upon the people of Cyrodiil and they rebuilt the Empire up to its _Oblivion_-era glory in under twenty years.)**


	8. An Unexpected Meeting

**(AN: My brother and I [as most of these author's notes begin] were discussing _Skyrim_ and he once again brought up that I should bring in some of his original characters, particularly an Uncle Tom Nord whom Crixus [surprisingly] trusts, likely because of his allegiance to the Empire.)**

**(Also, yay, many favorites and followers...but no reviews? I said it for all 112 chapters of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and I really don't want to say it again [it should be understood], but if I must...please review?)**

* * *

><p><strong>An Unexpected Meeting<br>**

They rode north away from Whiterun as the morning was rising upon the hold, covering the plains in oceans of golden light. Whiterun seemed at peace behind them, yet they knew all too well that there was no peace behind those walls. They continued riding north, passing the north tower and making their way at last to the southern end of Heljarchen Vale, where the snows clung to the uplands of the valley. Here they halted, a safe distance from any in Whiterun who might be pursuing them for the moment.

"My thane," Lydia spoke first after the long, silent ride from the walls of Whiterun to Heljarchen Vale. "I might not be up to date on current events, but isn't the Pale currently under Imperial control? It was given to the Empire at the peace summit."

"I remember," Eirik sighed. "And I doubt that General Tullius spared any time in finding a replacement for Skald the Elder." He sighed. "'Tis a grim day for Skyrim, to be sure."

"Then why are we going into enemy territory?" Lydia asked.

"We just needed to get out of Whiterun," Eirik returned. "If anything, we should be making east for Windhelm. And now that we're out of the city, we can do that."

"But first," Lydia said, gesturing to the elf on the back of her horse. "We need to figure out what to do with this one. She'll just get in our way, especially in a fight."

"You're right," Eirik mused. "We can't take her to Windhelm." Eirik looked over his shoulder to Mjoll. "What about Aerin? Couldn't he take her in?"

"Aerin is in Falkreath," Mjoll replied. "We would have to go back the way we came to reach Lakeview Estate."

"Damn," Eirik breathed. "So, the only option seems to be to drag her with us all the way to Windhelm."

"Can we _not_ do that?" Lydia asked. "She might not be able to move much, but she squirms and her mumbling is starting to annoy me."

"You complain quite a bit, you know that?" Mjoll spoke up. "You remind me of Dremla Varys of House Redoran. I met him while I was traveling the ash-wastes in what was left of mainland Morrowind..."

"We don't want to hear about your experiences with the Dunmer!" Lydia exclaimed.

"...always acting self-entitled about every damn thing," Mjoll continued. "Complaining constantly about this and about that..."

"Now is not the time for arguing!" Eirik suddenly spoke up. "Look! Up the north road!"

Both Mjoll and Lydia turned their eyes up towards the north road as directed. From there they saw two riders coming down the north road to meet them, making as though they were on their way from Dawnstar in the north of the Pale. They halted for a while as Eirik drew out his sword and Lydia her own. Behind him, Eirik felt Mjoll shift as she reached for Grimsever behind him, though he doubted there would be much room. The two specs were now close enough that Eirik could make out vaguely what they were. The foremost figure rode a white stallion but was clad from head to toe all in black, and black was the hood that fell down over his face and black was the mask that had his face. Behind him was a large man, definitely a Nord by his sheer size and the long, unbound locks of golden hair that bounced upon his shoulders as he rode alongside the black-clad man. Eirik's hands tightened around his sword's hilt when he saw that the large Nord was clad in the armor of the Imperial Legion. He was one of them, like as not, though a Nord, but he was away from his cohort and with this strange figure all in black.

Presently they made their way up towards them and came to a halt at ten paces. Eirik prepared to say something in challenge to the newcomers, but the one in black held up his hand in gesture of parley. He then urged his horse to walk towards them, coming now within a pace or three of their horses. Here he removed his mask and threw back his hood, revealing a face that Eirik was not entirely pleased to see.

"Shor's bones!" he exclaimed. "You have quite a bit of nerve showing your face in my presence after what you've done."

"I must be doing something right then," Crixus said with his characteristic smug grin upon his face.

"And who is this behind you?" Eirik asked. "I thought you didn't take with Nords."

"I never said that," Crixus replied.

"Yes you have, to my very face, in fact!" Eirik retorted. "You've called us all a bunch of ignorant, drunken, back-stabbing murderers and traitors, rolling among shit in our own thatched barns and thumping our breasts like trolls as we preach of Talos."

Crixus chuckled. "Oh, the things your mind fabricates!"

"You have said those words and you know it!" Eirik shouted, losing his patience.

"Whatever," Crixus said in disbelief, rolling his eyes.

"I ought to kill you where you stand," Eirik replied. "You led us into a trap. Or maybe you don't remember that, huh? Maybe you've chosen to forget when you told us about the moot in High Hrothgar, which turned out to be a trap by General Tullius!"

Crixus laughed again. "I don't even know where you come up with half of these cox-combed fantasies of yours!"

"Don't lie to me!" Eirik roared, and the sound was so great that his horse neighed in fright.

"First of all," Crixus replied. "General Tullius would never stoop so low as to resort to subterfuge, unlike your Ulfric."

"Secondly?" Eirik asked.

"That's it," Crixus stated.

"You don't say first of all," Eirik replied. "Unless you have more to add."

"Don't lecture _me_!" Crixus roared. "You're not my better!"

At this, the large Nord brought his horse up alongside Crixus, with one hand upon the haft of what appeared to be a great-sword upon his back.

"Is there trouble?" he asked. "I thought I heard challenges."

"All is well, Torgrim," Crixus returned. "Just putting another one of Ulfric Stormcloak's cock suckers in his place."

Eirik saw now just how large this Nord really was. Eirik was tall and well built, even by Nordic standards, but this man was a mountain of muscle. Easily a head taller than Eirik, he towered over even Crixus. When he spoke, his voice seemed to set the stones rumbling, as though he himself had the Gift of the Voice in each and every word he spoke, like the Greybeards. His beard, also, was thick and long, like a single sheaf of wheat growing from his chin.

"So, is this your friend?" Torgrim asked Crixus, speaking of Eirik.

"_He_ is not my friend," Eirik said. "He is a liar and a murderer, who hates everything of our people and our culture."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Torgrim responded. "He seems rather amiable to myself. Perhaps he cannot stand the stench of traitors."

"Another whipped dog, like the Battle-Borns," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "I can see why you favor him."

"I am no man's dog!" Torgrim grumbled aloud, and three of their four horses shook with fright, neighing and rearing up on their hind legs. "I am Torgrim Edmundsson, a free and respectable man of Morthal who obeys the law."

"And a slave to the Empire at that," Eirik replied. "Blindly following an old, dying dragon to its grave. But I am Eirik Bjornsson, blessed by the goddess Kyne with the gift of the Voice, the slayer of Alduin, known in the tongue of the wyrms as _Dovahkiin_: Dragonborn."

Torgrim laughed. "_You're_ the Dragonborn of legend?" Crixus joined in with his comrade's laughter, but both Lydia and Mjoll gave the large Nord cross glares. "I've heard rumors of the Dragonborn abroad, fighting dragons in the eastern holds. I expected him to be a giant, able to bash in a dragon's skull with his bare hands."

"I might not be up to your standards, Torgrim," Eirik retorted. "But I have the strength of Ysgramor himself. Before I slew dragons, I was a woodsman, honing my body with years of cutting wood with an axe."

Torgrim chuckled again. "You cut logs, boy? That's cute. I break stones. I worked in the quarries in the Stonehill mountains south of our town, my ancestors shaped the stones that make the walls of Windhelm. In Morthal, I am known as Stone-Crusher." He scoffed. "You're no Dragonborn, you're a rebellious child who needs the firm hand of Imperial discipline. And do you call that a beard? I've seen better hair between my wife's legs!" Crixus was besides himself with laughter, the only time they had seen him laughing in pure, unadulterated jest rather than in mockery.

Eirik threw down his sword, impaling the blade into the ground, and then he dismounted, eyes sizing up Torgrim for what he felt would be a challenging fight. Mjoll dismounted, keeping one hand on the reins while she tried to talk Eirik out of challenging him.

"I know how much honor means to you," she said. "But we don't have time for this! What about the Empire? We're still in an enemy hold!"

"You should listen to your woman, boy," Torgrim said. "It would be a shame for Skyrim if the Dragonborn of legend met an untimely death at the hands of a mere stone-cutter."

Crixus was laughing once again when he suddenly saw the thing hiding somewhat behind Lydia on her horse. At this he drew out a dagger and threw it into the ground at Eirik's feet. All eyes turned towards the Colovian in black at this strange behavior.

"You know I can take this whelp," Torgrim said to Crixus. "I won't kill him, just teach him the lesson he deserves."

"As much as I would love seeing Eirik's pride broken," Crixus replied. "And believe you me, nothing would give me greater pleasure. We have more important matters to attend to." He turned to Eirik. "Matters that require you to be alive and fully capable."

"No," Eirik retorted. "I'm done with you and your Empire. Galmar was right, you Imperials never keep your word."

"Alright, you're gonna pay for that," Torgrim threatened as he alighted off his massive horse.

"No!" Crixus shouted. "There will be no fighting today. In fact, I'm actually glad I found you when I did."

"Why?" Eirik asked. "Do you have another trap you can lead me into?"

"No, only a message," Crixus said. He then produced from his bosom a scroll, which he tossed down next to the dagger at Eirik's feet. "It's addressed to you." Eirik leaned down and picked up the letter, careful so as to not let Crixus and Torgrim out of his sight. Once it was in hand, he unfurled the note. It was addressed to him from Frea Stornsdottir, elder shaman of the Skaal of Solstheim, written by Tharstan.

_I hope this message finds you swiftly, Dragonborn. Return to Solstheim as soon as possible. All-Maker watch your steps._

Eirik handed the letter to Mjoll, then turned back to Crixus. "How do I know this is genuine? You might have forged it in an attempt to lure me into a trap."

"Again you go with the trap," Crixus groaned. "Listen, I thought you cared about your stupid people. Well, here they are, crying for your help. What will you do about it?"

"This is obviously a trap," Eirik said. "And I will have no part of it."

"Do I have to carry you back to Dawnstar?" Torgrim asked.

"Aha!" Eirik shouted triumphantly, thinking that Torgrim had let slip a detail of Crixus' plot which he would have liked kept secret. "So you _are_ leading me into a trap. It will be easier to erase any evidence of my disappearance in an Imperial-held hold, far in the cold north, away from any help."

"I didn't lead you into any *******ed trap!" Crixus roared. "I merely told you of the rumors I had heard in the Winking Skeever in Solitude. Whatever happened to you was entirely coincidental."

"What if he's telling the truth, my thane?" Lydia spoke up. "I mean, he hasn't been his usual asinine self lately, so it's quite possible that he _is_ telling the truth as far as he knows it."

"See? And here I thought you were just another dumb brute," Crixus said to Lydia in a condescending tone: like he was speaking to a child who believed himself to be the smartest boy around because he learned to count on his fingers.

"I still don't like you," Lydia said to Crixus, then turned back to her thane. "But his behavior lately leads me to believe that he wouldn't be involved in any kind of ploy."

"You don't know him like I do, Lydia," Eirik replied. "He says one thing to one person, then says another thing to another person, then turns to a third and tells them something completely different: and none of these things he says are either truthful or agreeing with each other."

"You don't fucking know me!" Crixus retorted. "And if you keep putting untrue words in my mouth, I'm going to have Torgrim bash your head in with his fists."

"He's right," Torgrim chuckled. "I've done it before."

Eirik sighed. "Supposing what you say is true, how is it that you need my help? Do you not have no need for my kind?"

"Listen," Crixus chuckled. "You can babble on as many ludicrous accusations as you see fit, but if you really wish to come with me to Dawnstar, we're leaving at once."

Crixus turned his horse around and began riding away north, back the way they had come. Torgrim snorted, spat at Eirik, then turned his horse around and galloped after Crixus. Eirik sighed, though his breath held great anger from the insult just shown him. He picked up his sword, placed it upon his back and remounted his horse. Mjoll had said nothing throughout the majority of the discourse when, at last, she decided to share her mind.

"I don't think we should trust him," she began. "But, I have a duty in Dawnstar, one which has been long over-due. I say we should go there, even if we don't necessarily travel with him."

"He didn't even bat an eye at this one," Lydia said, gesturing to the elf behind her. "Maybe we should let her go, or remind him of his quarry."

Eirik groaned. "Why do the gods torment me with this bastard?"

"They must have some greater purpose for the two of you," Mjoll replied.

"She's right," Lydia spoke up. "Remember what the Greybeards said when we first arrived at High Hrothgar last year. Whether you were the only Dragonborn of this age was not for them to discern. Perhaps they are right, and you and he have something yet to do before the end."

"I would that it were not so," Eirik replied.

"It would certainly explain," Lydia continued. "Why you two keep running into each other over the past several months."

Eirik looked after the two figures, disappearing into the snow-clad pine-trees up ahead. A part of him urged him onward, to see if what Crixus said was true and that there was indeed trouble in Solstheim. His better instincts told him that he should steer clear of Crixus, especially with this body-guard or whatever Torgrim was to him. Another part of him was concerned, based on what he had heard throughout his many adventures with Crixus, that, because the war had begun anew, sooner or later he would have to battle Crixus. While he had no doubt of the merit of his own martial skills, he knew that Crixus would not fight fairly and that going into an Imperial hold would give him the perfect opportunity to strike.

He sighed, fearing what he was about to get himself, to say nothing of Mjoll, their unborn child, and Lydia, into, and then spoke. "We're going after them."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I think I said this before, but I just have to remind you all of the kind of dialogue I have with my brother about <em>Skyrim<em> and the lore: he, an Imperial supporter, takes great offense to how the Dunmer [chronic racists, even among their own people, as well as slave-owners] are treated in Windhelm, how the Khajiit are kept out of the cities [even though all the Khajiit caravans in the game sell skoom and the followers _are_ thieves and pick-pockets, even J'Zhargo], and how the Argonians [who we know nothing about other than that they obliterated Morrowind] are kept out of Windhelm, but then he has no problem to the mounds of evidence of the game designers' obvious anti-Nord bias because, in his own words, "maybe it's because they're right and the Nords are dicks?" That's like saying, in a modern setting, that the statements "all men are rapists" or "white people are born with hate in their genes" are not racist statements because "maybe they're true?" and "it isn't racist if it's true".)**

**(Oh well, I'm back and writing some more...and would _really_ like some reviews. Especially if so many people are already following this story.)**


	9. Dawnstar

**(AN: "Stop right there, criminal scum! Nobody follows a story without reviewing it on _my_ page!" Lol, just for the heck of it. But seriously, my drive to write anything right now is zero.)**

**(On another note, though, there is something I would like to bring up as far as the cities in Skyrim go. Whiterun, by far, is the most significant and the one that most of the players spend quite a bit of time in. Windhelm is the home of the Stormcloaks, Riften of the Thieves Guild, Winterhold of the Mages' College, Solitude of the Imperials and the Bard's College [what little there is of it, which will change in one of my smaller stories I'm planning], and Falkreath pretty much just has the Dark Brotherhood for a while. Morthal has nothing - not even a smithy, unless you build one in _Heartfire_, which would make sense if that is your spouse's shop, since it would be a need filled with a healthy income of gold - Dawnstar has nothing until the Dark Brotherhood comes there, and Markarth sucks. Really, it is not in any danger of the dragons, its only problems are the Reachmen and it has no weight to the main quest. You could, in fact, play through the entire main quest [possibly those of _Dawnguard_ as well] without ever visiting Markarth or having the need to visit there. Yeah, that insignificant.)  
><strong>

**(Having said that, the towns of Morthal, Falkreath and Dawnstar are really uninteresting. Thankfully, my "fanon" version of Skyrim in this story is "semi-modded" [not all those "lore-friendly" ones that make Windhelm all bright and technicolor-y and spam every city with a thousand trees until it looks like freaking huorns have invaded Skyrim]. There is one decent Dawnstar mod which gives the city a wall, a lighthouse and such, which is what I will be depicting in this chapter, as well as more ships in the harbor.)  
><strong>

**(Just as a warning, this chapter is one of the reasons that this story is rated M [and it's not for the violence]. If the doings of a certain daedric prince disturb you, know now that you have been warned.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Dawnstar<strong>

Though Eirik had passed through the Pale several times throughout his time in Skyrim, he had not once seen the fabled port-city of Dawnstar, ensconced among the north-western edge of the mountains that made up the majority of the north-eastern corner of Skyrim. The city itself, while he had not seen it from the coast after the event in Ysgramor's tomb due to the amount of fog they had to cross through, he now saw as he, along with Mjoll, Lydia, Crixus, Torgrim and the elf, mounted the hill which stood at its south-western end.

Like everything in the Pale, it was covered with snow. The old stone walls were practically buried underneath the heavy stone drifts outside, while on the other side, the snow had been cleared up around the roads and paths. Here the icy winds from Atmora ever blew upon the coast, leaving the town cold and shivering: the heroes wore their cloaks and had their hoods pulled down over their heads to keep out the cold. The city of Dawnstar was built upon three levels, with the lowest level being around the coast. The second level held many houses dotting the lanes, while on the third, that nearest to the base of the arm of the mountains flung this far north into sheer bluffs above, there was a tall palace, a modest-looking inn, a barracks flying two banners - a star with four points and a single circle in the center, and the Imperial Red Diamond - several houses around the edge of the cliffs and a small temple around what appeared to be a modest market-place.

"There it is," Crixus said, gesturing to the city. "Dawnstar. It's doing much better now that that Stormcloak lover Skald the Elder has been driven out. See how the port has opened up again!"

Eirik said nothing, but kept his eyes on the many Imperial soldiers walking the streets. Crixus noticed this and chuckled.

"They're here to keep the peace," he said. "Unlike your Ulfric Stormcloaks' occupying force in Windhelm, only there to secure his tyranny."

"So an Imperial garrison keeps the peace," Eirik said. "But Windhelm guards are an occupying force?"

"And a force of oppression," Crixus stated.

"Since when have you ever cared about the Dunmer?" Eirik asked.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Crixus replied. "Now, get your arse down to the Windpeak Inn on the third level. It's the sign with the sun rising over a mountain peak. Torgrim and I have business to do, securing a ship and such."

"Wait a minute," Lydia spoke up. "What about this one?" She gestured with her head to the elf behind her.

"What about her?" Crixus asked. "I see you brought her out of Breezehome. Am I supposed to thank you for that?"

"You arrogant bastard!"

"I would have collected her in good time," Crixus replied. "Don't think that I'd leave a mer woman defenseless in the hands of three drunken Nords." He turned to Torgrim. "Be so kind as to relieve the huscarl of her burden."

Torgrim brought his horse up alongside Lydia and picked the elf up off her horse and held her upon his shoulders. Crixus and Torgrim then made their way to the shore level while Eirik groaned in frustration, then turned his horse towards the third level. They did not have to look far to find the Windpeak Inn, which they discovered was just inside the wall, near the gate of Dawnstar. Here they tied their horses up and passed on into the warmth of the inn. The journey through the Pale had been filled with blinding snow and freezing cold and they were eager to put a door between them and the encroaching night and its cold.

"I'll see to getting us some rooms, my thane," Lydia said as she made her way to the bar. Meanwhile, Mjoll and Eirik made their way to the hearth to warm their hands.

"I hope that we leave soon," Eirik said. "I don't like the idea of spending the night in an Imperial hold." He gestured towards the other tables in the common room, which had several off-duty Imperial soldiers drinking and laughing among themselves. It held all the makings of a potential bar-fight and he didn't feel like going alone against at least seven or nine others.

"I hope so as well," Mjoll said. "But for other reasons. Haven't you noticed the locals as we passed through here?"

"Not really," Eirik answered. "I wasn't paying close attention to them."

"They look like they haven't had a proper night's rest in months," Mjoll replied. "I think this was part of the note that Madena sent me. I should like to ask her about it, though I'm not entirely certain if I have the note with me anymore. I should very much like to ask around while we're waiting."

"By all means," Eirik replied.

Mjoll went about the patrons, asking about the nightmares and such in a bit of a low voice while a young bard sitting on a stool by the fire-place was fingering her lute. Lydia returned with news of their room and told him that she had taken the liberty of purchasing some food for them. As they sat down to ripe cheese and cold ale, Lydia shared with Eirik a little of what she had learned from the bar-keeper Thoring.

"Not much to tell about this place," she began. "When the rebellion broke out, Skald closed the ports. The official story was that he didn't want to be trading with those who had betrayed Talos. A lot of stories about that one, so they say: I hear that he used to beat his servants and keep his steward from joining the war. Well, as you can imagine, once the Empire took control of this place, they moved to get another Jarl in here as soon as possible. The new Jarl is Brina Merilis, a Nord from Bruma who came up with General Tullius and the Legion when the war broke out."

"Placing Imperials in high places, I see," Eirik stated.

"Well, she's a Nord, like as not," Lydia continued. "And from what I've heard, she's very popular among the people, so they have no qualms about her being here. She claims to have retired, though she does keep a rather large cohort in the city. But she's hardly the biggest concern among the people of Dawnstar: for them, it's these nightmares. I'm not sure how long ago they started, but ever since then, the people in and around Dawnstar have been suffering from the most horrific nightmares. Thoring wouldn't say for sure, he looked rather disturbed when I asked him what they were like, but he did let on that screams fill the air every night and the whole town wakes up in a cold sweat."

At this moment, Mjoll joined their table from where she had been talking with an orange-robed priest.

"I've done a little asking around," she began. "And I think I found the one I was looking for." She gestured over to the priest, who gently waved at her in reply.

"A Dunmer?" Eirik asked.

"He's a priest of Mara," Mjoll replied. "So I believe he can be trusted. His name is Erandur. He told me that there could be a way to save the people of Dawnstar from the nightmares."

"How?" Eirik asked.

"Do you remember seeing that tower on the top of the bluffs to the east as we came to this place?" Mjoll asked. Both Eirik and Lydia murmured an 'aye.' "He says that the place was called the Tower of Dawn in the early days, but that it is also known by another name: Nightcaller Temple. He says that the source of the nightmares is that place."

"I take it you're going there to defeat this evil and restore peace to Dawnstar?" Eirik asked.

Mjoll sighed. "Love, listen to me. You know that I would follow you wherever you choose to go, that I trust you with my life as I have trusted no one else save for Aerin. But this was what I was warned about, what I was begged to come help with. Before I met you, I dismissed it because it was not 'my beast' of Riften, and continued to do so. But now that I have Grimsever, I do not wish to leave the cry of Dawnstar unheeded." She paused, then looked Eirik earnestly in the eyes.

"I know you wanted to go to Solstheim," she said. "Believe me, it would be good to look upon the netch pastures with you again. But I have yet another beast to slay and I cannot ignore them any further." She sighed. "This is where we must part ways for a time."

Eirik did not respond at once. The thought of losing Mjoll was suddenly very real, now that she had no protection from her gift. They were married and was not he, therefore, supposed to stand at her side just as she stood at his while they stormed the gates of Castle Volkihar or fought in the Battle of Heljarchen Vale?

"You know," he said slowly at length. "That you are free to go as you will and do as you wish. I...cannot protect you..._either_ of you, if you choose to depart now."

Mjoll smiled. "You needn't worry yourself, dear. I'm more than capable of defending myself. I doubt that I will be very long in this task. I daresay that by the time you return from Solstheim, you might find me waiting for you on the docks of Dawnstar."

Eirik smiled and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I will pray for your safety every night we're apart."

After they finished their meal, they retired to their rooms. Mjoll and Eirik fell asleep in one bed with their arms wrapped around each other while Lydia sat in the corner, quietly drinking off a bottle of Honningbrew mead and trying to ward off sleep as best she could. The only light in the room was the flicker of a candle on the short, squat dresser pushed up against the wall, which made every shadow dance in its light. The effect was hypnotic, but Lydia, not one to doubt the rumors she had heard and not wishing to prove them true, fought the urge to sleep with renewed vigor.

* * *

><p>Eirik was in a mist of darkness. It was a greater dark than the night under stars or the mists of the World-Eater. He saw nothing but a low, quiet rumble made him distinctly aware that he was not alone. Then a bright light appeared from the east, brighter than the sun and of a white light. Slowly the light began to fade, though it lost none of its glory, until it appeared to him in a form which he had seen before in his dreams. It was the shape of a woman, tall and worshipful, clad in transparent white garments that glistened like starlight. In her right hand she bore a star and upon her brow was a coronet of many shining stars.<p>

"It has been long, my champion," said Azura. "Since I appeared to you. You must go to my shrine in the mountains, there I will speak to you once again and tell you what you must do."

"Have I not ended the prophecy?" he asked. "Have I not saved the dawn from the night eternity?"

"Yes, mortal," Azura replied. "But there is so much more for you to achieve as my champion, bringing my light to my servants once again. Long have they resisted me, though I am their true guiding light. You, my champion, are placed appropriately to bring them back into the light." Then, to Eirik's surprise, he saw that the daedric prince held aloft her hand and the star in her hand disappeared. Then she reached up to her shoulders and parted her garments, revealing her pale, glistening shoulders.

"And the rewards," she added. "Shall be great."

Azura let her robe fall to her ankles, then gracefully moved towards where Eirik lay, standing before him in all of her glory. Slowly her hands reached up and removed the shimmering coronet, and as the light faded from her face, Eirik was surprised to see that her face was the face of a Nord woman with red-golden hair, blue woad-paint and a scar beneath her left eye. Around him the dream seemed to shift and he saw that it was not Azura but Mjoll, his beloved, sitting naked upon his lap as had been so before his final fight with the World-Eater. Every movement of her body, every sound issuing from her lips and every touch with which she caressed his chest, made Eirik happy and assured of how strong and invincible he felt when in her presence.

Mjoll bent forward, leaning her head down until her face was obscured by her long hair hanging down, then let out the most ungodly neigh. With a swish, she brought her head back up and, to Eirik's shock, he saw a horse's long face where the face of his beloved once stood. He quivered at the repulsion of the sight, then heard helplessly as the horse spoke with a deep voice.

"Am I not beautiful, love?"

Suddenly there was a great weight pressing down upon Eirik and he saw that her sturdy, warrior's body had become that of a horse, squatting down upon him with all of its girth. He couldn't move, he couldn't even wedge himself out from beneath the weight of the mare as it grunted and neighed against him. Suddenly the bed upon which he lay turned to a thousand creeping black spiders, crawling and scurrying upon his back, eager to sink their fangs into his flesh. A hand suddenly rose up out of the vermin and seized Eirik's neck from behind. The mare was gone, but instead he saw the cold stone floor of Castle Volkihar and the devotees moving frantically in their mad rituals. The iron-strong hand bent his head upward until he saw the beast glaring down upon him with venomous hatred. Pain erupted from behind as he suddenly realized that the beast, the daedric prince of vampires and domination, was riding him from behind. But that was Serana's memories, not his own. He struggled to look down but the grip of the beast was strong.

The hand gave and became a slimy tendril, wrapping around his neck. He found himself being wrapped in tendrils like the black webs of some massive spider. The castle vanished and there was darkness once again, but then the eyes appeared. Thousands of squarish goat eyes leered out at him from the darkness as more and more black tendrils began entwining him like the coils of some massive serpent.

"Once a servant of the daedra," the sleepy voice of Hermaeus Mora spoke. "Always a servant of the daedra."

The darkness was suddenly filled with the mocking voice of Harkon Volkihar, taunting him from the darkness as the thousand black arms of Hermaeus Mora were dragging him down into the abyss. He came to a jolt as he saw a man with a sickeningly elvish face: in one hand he held a mask with two horns upon it and in the other he held the head of Mjoll, severed from its body, and at his feet lingered a dog.

"I gave her this gift," the elf-faced man said. "With the stipulation that she remain a virgin to keep it. You stole it from her with your cock. Her blood is on your hands."

The face turned into that of an Argonian, calling him a snow-back and threatening to take Mjoll from him. Then the face shifted again and there was Alduin, roaring at him with maw wide open, a hunger to devour the world. The eyes, though, were not the eyes of the dragon. He could see an old man's face laughing at him, twitching intermittently into that of a woman with dark hair and a nose that reminded him of someone he had seen before. Then the dragon's face turned back into an elf's face, but there was nothing human about it: it was taunting him from out of the depths of the dungeons of Castle Dour in Solitude. The elf laughed as he mocked him of what he would do to him, as the two faces danced within his eyes as well, and then there was a bright, blinding light.

Eirik found Mjoll laying before him upon the bed in Breezehome. In her arms was a little infant wrapped in swaddling clothes. His heart broke with happiness as he saw the joy on her face and the crinkled face of the newborn, swatting fat little arms at the air.

"Come, love," Mjoll said. "Hold your firstborn in your arms."

Eagerly, he reached down and took the child from her. He was surprised how the baby fit easily into his hands as he held the child up. Whether boy or girl, the babe bore the face of Mjoll and her eyes were brown like his eyes. The baby began to cry and Eirik saw the face was starting to turn red.

"What are you doing?" Mjoll asked, alarm slowly building in her voice as she heard the baby's cries. "Stop! What are you doing?"

To Eirik's horror, he saw that the baby was starting to bleed. He saw no cut or wound, but blood was pouring out of its very skin and the baby was now screaming at the top of its little lungs. _His_ baby was dying in his own hands and he didn't know why, nor could he stop it. Why was Mjoll blaming him? She could see that he had done nothing other than to hold the child in his arms as she had done. The baby's screams filled his ears as it was now a mass of blood that was melting through his finger-tips.

"_**What are you**** doing?!**_" Mjoll screamed, tears streaming from her eyes in disbelief.

The voice of the elf-faced man appeared to him again: _her blood is on your hands_. He found himself kneeling on the ground, cradling Mjoll in his arms. He knew that she was dying, though he knew not why. She could not speak but was spewing something sickly and yellow out of her lips and onto his hands: he saw with a shiver that the yellow things were maggots. He looked down at her and tried to assure her that she would not die; he would find some way to save her. But no answer came, only more yellow maggots, mixed now with blood. He cried out for anyone, but they were all gone. Lydia lay on the ground at his right hand, the great-sword of the Skaal, _his_ sword, buried in her back. To his left he saw Serana's head lying away from her body, a trail of blood leading to where it had been ripped off, the blooded Dawnbreaker sword lying between her legs.

"What have I done?" Eirik muttered through tears. "What have I done?"

Mjoll's body gave one last sickening convulsion, spewed blood-covered maggots out once more, then came to a halt. In horror he heard once more: _her blood is on your hands_. Then the body began to rot before his very eyes, falling away into burned and cracked flakes, half like a Falmer and half like a draugr corpse, with each flake falling apart into a mass of a thousand black creeping things. The face was rotting first and he watched in abject helplessness and horror as the face he loved crumbled to ashes and dust and maggots.

Eirik cried out and gripped tightly at the soft, warm thing before him, squirming beneath the covers and crinkling straw as the horror began to set in. He caught his foot on thin air and his eyes snapped open. He was not in darkness, but in a rented room in the Windpeak Inn in Dawnstar. Mjoll was not dead, but sleeping just a few inches away from him: neither a horse nor a mound of blood-soaked maggots, but a living, breathing woman. She stirred within her dreams, moaned in fear and gripped the pillow slightly, her breath quickening. Then Lydia appeared, alive and well as she had always been.

"Are you well, my thane?" she whispered.

In the distance, the still of the night was broken by a scream several blocks away, near the docking level of the city. Eirik was gasping heavily and swiftly, his heart beating against his chest like the hammer upon the anvil. He reached up to touch his burning forehead and found that he was drenched in sweat. Lydia placed her hand upon his shoulder and he shivered at how cold her hand was against his shoulder.

"What's the matter?" she asked again. "What happened?"

Eirik tried to explain what he had seen, but all that came out of his mouth were stammered phrases of incoherence, making no sense to himself nor to Lydia. With each renewed attempt to explain what he had seen, he seemed to make even more of a fool out of himself: he _knew_ what he had seen, he knew what it was, and yet he could not speak those words plainly.

"It was just a dream, my thane," Lydia replied, gently patting his shoulder.

"It-It...it was so real," Eirik stammered, tears streaming down his face. Lydia reached up and wiped the tears from her thane's eyes.

"But it wasn't," Lydia continued. "That's the good thing about dreams, my thane: they end."

"Don't make me go back," Eirik muttered. "Don't make me go back!"

"Back where?"

"Back to sleep," he said. "The monsters...the horrors, the images, the creeping, crawling things: they'll get me again!"

Lydia didn't understand what her thane was saying, but she saw the horror on his face. She had gone through fire and death with him and had seen him stare down the World-Eater with not even half as much fear as she now saw in his eyes. She gently patted his shoulder again.

"You don't have to go back to sleep," she said. "Come here, my thane. Let us sit against the wall and watch the candle burn until morning comes." She rose up from the side of Eirik's bed and led him over to the side of the wall, where she had sat with her food and wine, warding off sleep.

"I guessed that it wouldn't be a good idea to sleep in this town," she said. "You're welcome to join me. There shouldn't be more than three hours left until dawn."

Eirik sat down shiveringly next to Lydia. Seeing that he was apparently still cold, she took her cloak, which had been resting against the back-rest of a chair, and wrapped him in it while she sipped from her mug.

"You're a good woman, Lydia." Eirik said. "You serve me well."

"You treat me well, my thane," Lydia responded. "You're not bad in a fight and I enjoy our time together."

"I never tell you how grateful I am for your service," Eirik returned.

"And you never need to, my thane," Lydia said, wiping a tear from her own eye. She had heard the words of the Tongues, the three heroes that had fought at her thane's side in Sovngarde against the World-Eater. She held a place of renown among them already, so they had told her, and she would not begrudge her duties as huscarl to the Dragonborn, the savior of Skyrim: as long as he carried his own burdens, though.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I know they say in the game that Vaermina's nightmares don't happen to visitors, but I couldn't resist doing something genuinely messed up, especially involving daedric princes. Tell me what you think of it: part of me feels that I was a bit too Namira with this dream sequence.)<strong>

**(While I don't know what will happen to Mjoll in the long-run [at least as far as 2024E is concerned], I did have something planned and it does carry weight to the "main quest" of this story. Like Russell T. Davies, show-runner of the first four seasons of nu-_Doctor Who_ [the real bamf, and not for bad reasons like Stephen Moffat], I feel that a story of this size and scale should have a fair amount of foreshadowing and everything should be connected to the final conflict/climax of the story.)**

**(Don't forget the reviews!)**


	10. Journey by Sea

**(AN: Yay, a review! Hopefully it's not the last one. Honestly, I feel that the game developers were already greatly biased for the Empire, making all the Stormcloak supporters dicks, racists, corrupt or just a-holes while all the nice, intelligent, informed and honorable people are Empire supporters [manipulative portrayals much?]. But my brother complained for half of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ that I include Torgrim, even though that character makes no sense at all since Crixus is based off of my brother and, like him, harbors a deep-seated, pathological hatred for Nords and thinks Skyrim sucks in general [no, really, my brother is an _Oblivion_ hipster and thinks, like everyone else on here, that the people and situations in _Skyrim_ are sub-par and a plot by the game designers to appeal to the "evil" casual gamers].)**

**(I usually give a purpose for everyone who appears in my story. Rarely do I end up with someone with no end in mind [even Rayya the Bright, aside from possibly becoming the Falkreath huscarl, is set to appear in a spin-off set in Hammerfell], but Torgrim serves no purpose to this story at all. Eirik is the hero, the savior of Skyrim, Lydia's friendship with him needs to be explored, Crixus' purpose I can't tell yet but it is _very_ important, and for now, Mjoll is kind of on the edge. I feel like she has very little to work with as far as making her interesting but not compromising her lawful good alignment. I feel like there aren't enough well-written lawful good characters because everybody is jumping on the misunderstood villain band-wagon [I don't care if emo-Loki from _Thor_ and the Avengers has daddy issues, I don't care if Flint Marko was so caring about his terminally ill daughter that he chose to selfishly land himself in prison rather than find a legal way to save her from Sam Raimi's _Spiderman 3_ - Revenge of the Peter Parker pelvic thrusts - and I don't care about Elsa the Snow-Queen as voiced by Idina Moonzel from _Frozen_! Period. I'd much rather care about Jon Snow of _Game of Thrones_, a morally good character set in hell...literally].)**

**(But aside from being spammed with misunderstood villains, I have a question for you all. In _Oblivion_, the Imperial soldiers wore heavy plate armor akin to 14th century knights. In _Skyrim_ they reverted to the 4th century Romanesque gear from _Morrowind_. Typically, my brother took offense by this and said that it was stupid for the Empire to "devolve" from full body plate armor into light leather Roman armor. I gave a decent explanation in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, that it would probably be less costly for an empire weakened by war to fund an entire army with heavy plate armor in rugged terrain [unless, like my brother, you believe that the Empire has fully recovered from the Great War with the Dominion but are still at such a disadvantage that the unification of Skyrim is essential]. Personally I think it would be hilarious to see leather-armor Stormcloaks able to weave and dodge and move swiftly around heavy, tin-can suited Imperial guards from _Oblivion_: they'd probably work up a sweat in those suits and get hypothermia. Of course that won't happen, because I'm sick of all the heavy plate-armor knightly orders of _Oblivion_ and how they are incompatible with the Viking-era like atmosphere of _Skyrim_ and, personally, I feel that it would have ruined _Skyrim_ if my brother got his wish and the environment of Tamriel evolved to the next logical step from 14th century plate armor...gunpowder and cannonade of the 16th century. Of course, like a racist, he says that this wouldn't matter in Skyrim because it is a backwards "frontier" country [frontier to what?], but seriously, I hate the Dwemer ruins for how out of place their robots, computers, steam and cog machines appear, so a gunpowder age Skyrim would not be interesting at all imo. What do you think?)**

* * *

><p><strong>Journey by Sea<br>**

When morning came, both Eirik and Lydia were weary-eyed and half asleep. Mjoll rolled out of bed wearily and said nothing as she girt herself in her armor. As Lydia gathered the rest of their traveling things, Eirik walked over to Mjoll and asked her privately about if she had dreamed.

"Yes, I dreamed tonight," she replied. "And I do not wish to speak of it." Mjoll looked at Eirik with her big amber eyes and that was enough. The look of concealed horror and contained dread was more telling than any words she could speak. Eirik nodded knowingly and did not press the matter.

They left the Windpeak Inn and made their way down to the wharfs on the first tier of the city. Here they were led to a familiar sight, the Red Dog, the carrack belonging to Shaddar al'Malik. The design was at least two hundred years old, a relic of the bygone age of the Septims and the old glory days of the Empire. Mjoll followed Eirik and Lydia to the edge of the docks where they said their farewells as Lydia deposited their gear in the part of the hold where they would sleep.

"Gods be with you, my love," Eirik said.

"The Nine be with you also," Mjoll replied. "I will do what must be done swiftly and be here at this spot when you return. And, if the Divines see fit to take you from me...may you die with a sword in your hand." She leaned in and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his large shoulders. After a moment they parted and Eirik boarded the Red Dog without as much as a single look back.

Onboard, Eirik saw Crixus and Torgrim waiting for him, as well as several faces he hadn't seen in a long while. Among them was Gorak Giant-Tamer, a large orc who had once fought in the Imperial Legion, Rayya the Bright and an elderly Redguard with a long grey-white beard: this was Shaddar, the captain of the ship and the only person Eirik knew who could possibly be called Crixus' friend.

"Welcome, Dragonborn," Shaddar greeted. "I am honored to have you on my ship once again."

"How do you know I am Dragonborn?" Eirik asked.

Shaddar chuckled. "This one," he said, gesturing to Crixus. "Has not ceased to sing your praises. Just a few days ago we were in the Bee and Barb in Riften and he told me all about everything you two have done since that morning when you fought the dragon."

"I find that difficult to believe," Eirik said, giving Crixus a glaring look.

"You shouldn't," Torgrim spoke from behind. "He speaks very highly of you: one might even say that he flatters you beyond your capacity to deliver."

"Torgrim!" Rayya greeted warmly. "It has been too long! How is the family?"

"Well, very well, Talos be praised," Torgrim replied.

"Hey, watch yourself, kinsmen!" Eirik interjected. "Crixus won't tolerate mention of Talos in his presence. He despises the very name of Tiber Septim."

"Let him say what he pleases," Torgrim stated. "Loyal subjects of the Empire have always worshiped Talos, despite what anyone might say."

Eirik laughed. "I cannot believe this. You mean to tell me that Crixus actually let you pray and worship Talos in his presence? And he never gave you shite for it?"

"Do you see?" Crixus said with a triumphant air. "You don't know me." He patted Eirik's shoulder condescendingly, but Eirik brushed his hand away. With a scowl, Crixus turned away towards Shaddar and his expression lightened. "Are we pushing off soon, captain?"

"Straight away, my friend," Shaddar replied. "There is a strong west wind out of High Rock, we should be able to ride it all the way to the northern coast of Vvardenfell."

"Make it so," Crixus said.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion heard and out from the hull came Lydia, running past two sailors with seemingly reckless abandon and coming to a skidding halt on the icy cold before Eirik. The breath was steaming from out of her lips and she had a look of panic on her face.

"There's...a giant!" she gasped. "Below deck!"

"A what?" Eirik asked.

"A giant!" she exclaimed.

"It's nothing," Crixus stated. "Don't worry, that's harmless."

Eirik turned just as large Gorak made his way down into the lower decks of the ship. Eirik was about to say something when there was heard a shout from one of the crew and the lines were being untied from the dock. Swiftly, Eirik turned back to the shore where he saw Mjoll standing there, looking after him. Swiftly the ship began to cast off and the gulf between the hull of the ship and the dock began to grow larger. He walked towards the deck and gazed after her, waving with his hand until she was lost from sight. For a while he kept gazing into the direction of the Dawnstar docks, illuminated by the clear light of day, until they passed the outer docks and all sight of the city was lost.

* * *

><p>"Missing her already, I see," Crixus said, walking up to Eirik's right-hand side. "I'm surprised she didn't come with us."<p>

"She has business in Dawnstar," Eirik replied, gazing back at the land.

"Still, I wouldn't mind it that much," said Crixus. "A man's best friend is his freedom."

"You know," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "I never asked for your presence, or to hear anything you have to say, especially now that I..."

"I know," Crixus interrupted. "I put myself here for two reasons: one is that an assertive man always gets what he seeks."

"And the second?"

"'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,' says the old proverb," Crixus continued. "Now I wouldn't stand too close to the edge if I were you. You'd probably end up sea-sick and we don't need that now, do we?"

"I've been to sea before," Eirik commented.

"But it looks like there might be storms ahead," Crixus stated.

"I can clear the skies, if a few storm-clouds scare you," Eirik retorted.

"A storm doesn't scare me. Not half as much as your housecarl was scared by Eld."

"Who?"

"Eld the giantess," Crixus said. "She's the one that Gorak tamed. Possibly his proudest moment, and I've seen him proudly wear the remains of the shattered skulls of his enemies."

Eirik said nothing yet, musing on the possibility of domesticated giants. Legends said that Ysgramor had a giant as an adviser and, if he recalled properly, one of the Skaal in Solstheim said something about their last leader being a giant.

"I should like to meet this Eld," Eirik stated.

"You will, eventually," Crixus replied. "Just as long as you keep a respectable distance. I've seen how you and Lydia treat that Snow Elf."

"No thanks for bringing her to you, I see," Eirik mused aloud.

"I would have collected her in time," Crixus repeated. "All you did was save me the trouble of going to get her, but I still have to send someone to Markarth, or don't you remember what Farengar said? That Dwemer specialist in Markarth who knows the lost language of the Falmer."

"Yes?" Eirik asked.

"She was speaking an elvish language I've never heard before," Crixus stated. "That's why I sent for Calcelmo from Markarth. He might be able to decipher something of what she was speaking."

"How do you know it's a she?" Eirik asked.

"How do you _not_?" Crixus replied.

Eirik did not respond but went below deck after Lydia to see what had gotten her surprised, while Crixus followed on behind him. They followed Lydia into a small hold that, like the last time Eirik was on the Red Dog, looked like nothing more than a cargo hold with a few blankets thrown in for comfort. Lydia was preparing for herself a bed on the floor.

"I don't understand," Eirik said. "Where's the giant?"

"Down the hall, fifth door on the right," Lydia replied. "But I'm not going anywhere near it, my thane. I've seen what giants can do to a man. They grind bones to fine meal with their bare hands and could with a single swing of their clubs send a man from the seven thousandth step of High Hrothgar all the way to the western watchtower of Whiterun."

"Suit yourself," Crixus said to Lydia, then turned to Eirik. "If you two decide to fuck, at least lock the door."

"Can I kill him now, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"She's right, though," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "Get out."

"I'll leave for now," Crixus scoffed. "But you and I, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"You'll find out when I tell you."

Crixus turned about and left the two of them in the cramped cargo hold, spreading blankets upon the floors.

"The nerve of him!" Eirik groaned.

"I know," Lydia replied. "Sometimes I wonder why you put up with him. You know, despite what Mjoll said, he's usually more trouble than he is worth."

"I don't know," Eirik sighed. "Part of me believes what Mjoll said might be true."

"What, about you and him having some greater purpose together?" Lydia asked, then scoffed. "I don't see it, unless the Nine want us to suffer."

"Us?" Eirik asked.

"You're not the only one who suffers from his presence, my thane," Lydia replied.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was more or less uneventful onboard the Red Dog. Eirik saw no more of Crixus, though he had said that he wanted to speak to him later. They removed most of their armor but still wore their cloaks and winter clothes, as the winds from the north and west were still very cold far out to sea with no mountains to block them. They ate little of their rations and drank no ale or mead, as there was no water on the ship and they had to last for the voyage of a day or two to Solstheim without it. Around the coming of evening, Lydia went walking down the halls of the ship to learn what she could from the other sailors while Eirik remained in their room and sharpened his great-sword with a stone. While he was doing this, there came a knock at the door.<p>

"Come in," he said.

To his surprise, in walked Crixus, dressed in the black gear he wore when he had met him on the road from Dawnstar.

"I said we needed to talk," Crixus stated. "Well, now's as good a time as any."

"Fine, let's talk," Eirik said stoically. "But about what, hmm?"

"First of all," Crixus began. "You need to watch that attitude of yours. All the crew are loyal to Shaddar and will jump if I tell them to jump, also I have Torgrim, and Gorak and Eld, who could crush you with their bare hands. You're in no condition to be giving me any of your Nordic lip, is that understood?"

"Aye," Eirik grumbled.

"Now, here's what you need to know," Crixus continued. "When we get back to Skyrim, you're dead the moment we land. Obviously we're not going to drop you off at Windhelm, and if you show your face in Solitude again, doubtless you will be killed. You won't be able to return to any of the eastern holds since they've thrown off the tyrant Ulfric's yoke and have returned to their true masters, to say nothing of those performing the Black Sacrament on you. Of course, were you to join the Legion..."

"I won't betray my homeland," Eirik replied.

"Your 'homeland' is the property of the Empire," Crixus retorted. "Your people have only one prerogative, and that is to obey the laws of the Empire and if that means shutting up about Talos and obeying the White-Gold Concordant, then that is what you must do."

"Talos founded this empire of yours," Eirik stated. "How can you turn your back on him?"

"Talos was scum," Crixus replied. "A liar and a back-stabbing traitor, whose legend, like all of your Nordic heroes, was based on lies and fabrications. The Nordic blood of Tiber Septim had long since been cleansed from the Imperial blood-line by the time Martin was born, and the Medes had not even a drop of Nordic blood in their veins. _They_ were the rightful heirs of the Empire, and it is _their_ Empire, not the one of Tiber Septim, that I serve."

"Titus Mede is dead," Eirik said. "So you have nothing to serve anymore. And what do you mean, all of _my_ heroes' legends are based on lies?"

"In between assignments with myself and you," Crixus continued. "Marcurio has been moonlighting as an apprentice at the College of Winterhold. One of the projects which they have undertaken has been the excavation of Saarthal, one of the oldest cities in your realm."

"I know the stories of the Night of Tears," Eirik said grimly.

"But what you may not have known," Crixus replied, a smug smile on his face. "Is that the bards and historians of your people have been feeding you lies for the past four thousand years."

"What?" Eirik asked.

"It's true," Crixus nodded. "Buried under snow and ice in Saarthal is the truth of the so-called 'Night of Tears'."

"And what is 'the truth?'" Eirik asked.

"First, answer me this," Crixus replied. "Why did the Snow Elves attack Saarthal?"

"They wanted to eradicate the Atmorans," Eirik answered easily. "We were the first men on Tamriel and they hated us."

"Wrong!" Crixus exclaimed. "See how arrogant you people are? The Atmorans were not the first humans on Tamriel: there is documented evidence that humans and elves co-existed peacefully before the arrival of you blood-thirsty Nords. So answer my question: why did the Snow Elves attack Saarthal?"

"They were afraid of us," Eirik said with a hint of pride. "They knew we would become too powerful for them."

"Wrong again," Crixus stated happily. "You really need to read more often, friend."

"Very well, all-knowing one," Eirik retorted sarcastically. "Why did the Snow Elves attack Saarthal?"

"I can't tell you," Crixus said cryptically. "But I can tell you why they didn't attack."

"Go on."

"They did not attack Saarthal," Crixus began. "For the sake of exterminating the Atmorans. That is a myth that your people have been propagating for centuries to justify your bigotry for anything that isn't Nordic. You don't have to take my word for it: there was a book, Heseph Chirinis' _Imperial Report on Saarthal_ which tells the true story, published several years ago, or you can look at Marcurio's notes in the library of the College of Winterhold, or you can even go to Saarthal and see for yourself."

"See just what?"

"The city ruins," Crixus stated. "It's been preserved damn well for a four thousand year old city."

"That's just the strength of Atmoran stone-masonry," Eirik replied proudly.

"That's bullshit is what it is," Crixus retorted. "Your legends say that the Elves attacked at night and slaughtered all the Nords, with only Ysgramor and his sons running back home in cowardice like three little whipped dogs."

"That will be enough of that, now," Eirik said sternly.

"The evidence says otherwise," Crixus replied haughtily, a smile of victory on his face. "The Elves didn't destroy key targets, they didn't even go after the defenders. They weren't after a slaughter, an extermination of your people, they were after something else. Like I've always said: your 'Night of Tears' was more of a stern ultimatum from the Snow Elves, telling Ysgramor and his people to leave and never return, and just like you pride-hurt Nords, he came back with an army and lied about the people who died. I'll bet he even sank his own ships with his own people onboard just to make it seem as though only him and his two sons came back."

"Get out!" Eirik shouted, rising to his feet. "This is the last straw! You've insulted my ancestors for too long, and now you insult the honor of the Companions!"

"Insulting the honor of the Companions?" Crixus laughed. "You're a pathetic band of mercenaries, sell-swords and werewolves: you have no honor."

"Get out of my room!" Eirik retorted. "And I never want to see you in Whiterun ever again."

"What are you going to do, kill me?" Crixus mocked.

"I'll have you banished from Jorrvaskr for life!" Eirik retorted. "I'm Harbinger of the Companions, I will see to it that you never set foot under our hall ever again. I don't care if Skjor knew you or if Kodlak knew you, this insult will not be tolerated!"

"Like I care about any pathetic Nordic ban," Crixus retorted. "I'm a law-abiding son of the Empire, I'll go where I please."

"Get out, now!" Eirik shouted. "You didn't come here to talk, you came here to mock me again! Is that it? Taunt me into a rage and then have an excuse to kill me on-board your ship of arse-kissing loyalists? I knew this was a trap, I _knew_ it!"

"Are you fucking stupid?" Crixus shouted. "Shaddar's no loyalist, neither is his crew nor anyone else in Hammerfell. That's the problem with you ignorant Nords! The Dominion will have all our asses, yours too, because you people can't just bend your knees to just Imperial law like you should! Can't you see that? Don't you know anything about the Great War?"

"I know about the war," Eirik replied. "And while I know that your Titus Mede beat the Elves, he capitulated to them, agreeing to everything they demanded prior to starting the war. Your beloved Medes failed the Empire! Everyone who gave their lives to defend your precious Empire in the war died for nothing! The Dominion got what they wanted, didn't they?"

At this, Crixus suddenly punched Eirik in the face. The blow was strong, but Eirik did not crumble to the ground. Instead he staggered against the wall and clung to it to keep from falling. He slowly rose to his feet, keeping his eyes on Crixus for another blow.

"Don't you _dare_ insult the Legion!" Crixus retorted. "Or the Medan dynasty! They did more for Tamriel than your precious Tiber Septim _ever_ did!"

"They sold us out to the Dominion," Eirik said, rubbing blood off of his lip where he had bit down when the blow struck him. "They gave them everything they wanted: the loss of an Aldmeri host or a few legions was meaningless. The Dominion won in the end, and all you're doing is fighting _for_ the Dominion, not for the Empire."

"The Empire didn't abandon its people!" Crixus said angrily, though Eirik could see there was disbelief in his eyes. "...they never have."

"Or have they?" Eirik asked. "You know something, don't you? Something you're not telling me."

"Look, what I know that I don't tell you..." Crixus began, but Eirik cut him off.

"So tell me already!" Eirik retorted. "Unless you actually believe all your talk of elven privilege and their entitlement to Tamriel because they once ruled it, you know as well as I do that they're a threat to us all. The war did nothing but give the Dominion what they wanted at the cost of lives, Nord, Imperial and Breton. You say that Hammerfell isn't loyal anymore? Well, why not if the Empire allowed the White-Gold Concordant to permit the annex of Redguard lands? The Dominion knew what they were doing when they made that part of the pact and now the Empire is suffering for it."

"Your point being?"

"Instead of fighting," Eirik said. "The Empire and Skyrim should be working together against the Dominion. We're not the enemy, the Dominion is."

"Peace?" Crixus scoffed. "The only peace the Empire will be satisfied with is one that sees Ulfric Stormcloak dead and Talos worship rightfully banned."

"Once again, more lives lost for _your_ blood-lust!"

"_My_ blood-lust?" Crixus retorted. "How _dare_ you say I'm on the same level as you drunken Nordic scum! I am a servant of the Empire and the Empire wants order! It is _you_ ignorant Nords with your history of lies and betrayal who only want blood-shed and carnage!"

"What next, we should be welcoming the Dominion into Tamriel as friends?" Eirik asked.

"There's no point talking to you," Crixus said, throwing his hands up in dismay as he turned and walked away. But Eirik was not done with him as he stepped out of the room and called after him.

"Just who's side are you on, anyway?"

Crixus halted in the hallway, then slowly turned around, a look of anger in his eyes at the question.

"What did you say?"

"Who's side are you on?" Eirik repeated. "If you want to be for the Empire, then help strengthen the Empire."

"I _am_ for the Empire!" Crixus retorted. "It's _you_ who's not!"

"I'm for my people!" Eirik stated. "You? You fight to defend a law, an ordinance on paper written by elvish hands. Your Empire is dead, a shell of what it once was, and all you're doing is helping the ones you claim to hate. So answer _my_ question now: who's side are you on?"

Crixus did not answer, but gave Eirik a look of profound disgust as he slowly walked away. He did not turn his back to the Nord until he had rounded the corner of the hallway, after which Eirik had already returned to the cargo hold to attend to his stinging lip. Moments later Lydia came running down the hall.

"My thane, is everything alright?" she asked. "I thought I heard you yelling. Are you bleeding?"

"I'm fine," Eirik sighed. "It's just Crixus being his usual charming self."

"I think I'm getting sick of his usual charming self," Lydia said, sitting down next to Eirik. "I really want to just get to Solstheim and be rid of him, if only for a while to walk around the island for a while. Tell me, what's it like?"

"What what's like?" Eirik asked.

"Solstheim," she returned. "You've been there before, I haven't."

"There's not much to tell, though," Eirik replied. "Half of the island is covered in ash: two hundred years worth of ash. There aren't many settlements on the island that I know of, just Raven Rock and the village of the Skaal. Doubtless we'll land in Raven Rock first: it's a...well, they're houses, I suppose, but they're all made of some black material like stone and underground, or under-ash."

"I see," Lydia returned. "And what about the Skaal?"

"They're Nords, but they worship the All-Maker," Eirik said. "A bit secretive, so I've heard, but they seemed very friendly when we arrived there. That's where we're going."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Honestly, I have no time to write and no internet connection at home, and with no means of recording music either, I just don't feel like doing anything, since it all comes to nothing [no music to record and any chapter update is futile since no reviews].)<strong>

**(Although, I do have something of a point with this part of the story, which is based on what we see in the _Dragonborn_ DLC. Also, an interesting fact: on my first play-through I got to see this part of the story which I will detail, but on my second play-through, while cleansing the last of the Earth Stones, Fanari Strong-Voice, the chieftain of the Skaal, accidentally died while fighting the lurker. Of course, with the death of Storn, that means Frea is the only one leading the Skaal and, by all accounts, life isn't looking up for them.)  
><strong>

**(Okay, can someone please review and answer this question for me: what the fuck is C0DA? [ALERT! SPOILERS FOLLOW!] It's like some comic by Michael Kirkbride but it makes no sense! Dunmer living on one of the moons, numidium destroying Nirn, television set heads, Akatosh as an inept worm with tiny wings, Talos the liar canon? I mean come on, I'm sick of Dunmer superiority! So they get to flee the earth and watch while everyone dies from the Numidium? Everything you know is wrong and the Dunmer are gods even though they're racist dicks [even while living in Tomorrowind on the moon, they still keep Khajiit as slaves]? You know what, call me racist if you want, but I don't feel Ulfric Stormcloak has given the Dunmer what they deserve, especially if _this_ is now going to be canon. I beg the Aedra, the Daedra, the Aesir, the Et'Ada, Sithis, Shor, the All-Maker, the Valar and God Himself that this is NOT, nor will ever be, canon!)  
><strong>


	11. Fate of the Skaal

**(AN: Okay, I'm done ranting about Kirkbride for now. There's something else that I feel should be addressed and it is part of _Dragonborn_. I understand that it was rushed [there are sound-files which show that Miraak wasn't supposed to die after the encounter at Apocrypha], but there is something very significant to the development of the Civil War story-line which has absolutely no explication in the game. I hinted at it near the end of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, but now I'm going to depict my version of what it means.)**

**(And please, for the love of Talos, don't start with "Kirkbride wrote everything in _Skyrim_". That is just stupid, like saying that Dave Mustaine wrote _Metallica_'s first three albums [leaving it that they couldn't write a decent album without him, even though he could make crap like _Super Collider_ without them] or that Irvin Kirshner saved _Star Wars_ with_ Empire Strikes Back_.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Fate of the Skaal<strong>

The next day was dark, damp and overcast. There was rain but never strong enough winds to endanger the ship, though all the crew were on alert. Eirik and Lydia remained in their room, unwilling to be around Crixus anymore than they had to, receiving informative visits from Rayya or Torgrim. Usually Rayya's visits were more cordial, since, though she was not a Nord, she was nevertheless amicable to them and didn't speak with as many diminutives as Torgrim. They also managed to learn a bit more about the journey and things happening outside of Skyrim from her.

"Aside from the rain," she told them. "We will be in Raven Rock by this afternoon. I hear that the Redoran House of Morrowind have taken a stronger hold on Solstheim, though. It might spell trouble for us."

She also told them about new happenings in Hammerfell. The Alik'r Coterie, an off-shoot of the Crowns faction, were in deep with the Dominion and held great influence over many significant members of the Crowns and the Forebears. Like the Placators of Cyrodiil, the Alik'r promoted that the Crowns and the Forebears had acted too rashly in their war with the Dominion and, having driven them from their country, should now hold the hand of friendship to them.

"Who are the Placators?" Lydia asked.

"Clearly you've never been to Cyrodiil," Rayya chuckled. "It's no wonder with all the borders closed with the war. But I've been to Anvil several times on leave and one can hear much from the gossip in the Count's Arms inn. Apparently, there's quite a bit of political unrest in Cyrodiil at this time: the Nobles, the Placators, the Renrijra Krin, the Merchant's Guild, the Shield of Hlaalu, the King's Men and the Sons of Skyrim have more or less split what's left of the Empire between them."

"Who are these?" Eirik asked.

"The Nobles," Rayya began. "Are the loose collection of the eight lords of the counties of Cyrodiil. Each of them wants to take advantage of the situation, but none of them can agree on more than that, which makes them the weakest faction. The Placators are the puppets of the Dominion and openly brag about their affiliation with the Thalmor and wish to have the Empire embrace the Dominion with kindness and with love. The Renrijra Krin are a cult of Khajiit assassins and thieves also in league with the Thalmor who have a rather sizable presence in Leyawiin: they have no love for the Caro family and vie with them for control of Leyawiin.

"The Merchant's Guild are a conglomerate of wealthy merchants with ties to the East and West Empire Trading companies. They've grown fabulously wealthy and have significant holdings in Anvil, Bravil and Leyawiin as well. They view a unified empire as a great boon, mostly for their own pockets, and are willing to make minor investments to see the Empire returned to the glory of the Septims. They have close connections to the Shield of Hlaalu, the remnants of the Dunmer House who fled to Cyrodiil after Redoran exterminated them from Morrowind. They own most of Cheydinal and wish to see relations between the Empire and the Houses of Morrowind restored, though their means are less than honorable. The King's Men are a fanatical group of merchants' and nobleman's sons with dreams of greatness: they would see the knightly orders of Septim's empire restored, such as the Knights of the Nine, the Knights of the Thorn, the Order of the Virtuous Blood and the Order of the Dragon.

"Lastly, the Sons of Skyrim have even less power than the Nobles. From what I heard, they were doing in Bruma what Ulfric is doing in Skyrim long before the death of King Torygg. When the civil war began, most of them packed up and went to Skyrim to join the Stormcloak rebellion. Those who remain have little real power in Bruma other than causing a few hours of unrest every day or so."

Aside from news from Cyrodiil, she told them of several other things she had heard about movements in the other parts of Tamriel, little of which seemed to be of interest to them at the moment. Torgrim talked mostly about Skyrim and the Empire and how Ulfric would soon be brought to justice.

* * *

><p>In the evening, the swaying and tossing of the ship came to a rest and the sounds above told Eirik and Lydia that they had come ashore. As they made their way to the top deck, they saw the ship at the wharf of Raven Rock, anchored and with many of the sailors standing by the starboard side of the ship, eager to be a-shore, with a committee of Redoran guards clad in bone-mold armor blocking their path. Eirik saw Shaddar and Crixus near the front, arguing with a Dunmer official standing in front of the guards.<p>

"This is an outrage!" Shaddar exclaimed. "I have never been blocked from making berth at Raven Rock!"

"That was before," the Dunmer replied. "Things are different in Raven Rock now. You will need to apply for a writ of portage at the Office of Foreign Affairs in Blacklight."

"But we have business in Solstheim!" Shaddar retorted.

"You have no business here," said the Dunmer. "At least not without a writ of portage signifying that the heads of House Redoran see you as safe and equitable trading partners."

"This is ridiculous," Crixus sneered. "I've been to this port before, Adril. I have permission to make port here."

"Such arrogance," Adril replied. "House Redoran does not recognize the Empire of Cyrodiil here."

"What's going on?" Eirik asked.

"These bastards are preventing us from making port here," Crixus answered.

"Denying port?" laughed Adril. "Since I see you have one of _them_ with you, I must insist that you leave Raven Rock immediately."

"What do you mean, one of 'them'?" Eirik asked.

"Nords aren't welcomed in Solstheim anymore," Adril retorted. "House Redoran will not tolerate your kind coming here, destroying our island. What, have you become wearied of persecuting our kind in your precious Skyrim?"

"But I am not a Nord," Crixus stated. "Neither is the captain of this ship, nor are half of the crew."

"You're an Imperial," Adril said. "Your Empire's days of tyranny over the Houses of Morrowind are at an end. Now return to your ship or I will have the guards throw you all into the Bulwark and have your ship sunken for good measure!"

"We don't need to listen to this," Eirik said. He then turned to Crixus. "We'll Shout these arrogant elves down before us! They don't stand a chance!"

"Just like you Nords, kill every elf in sight," Crixus retorted.

"That would do no good, friends," Shaddar interjected, a third option formulating in his head as he turned towards Adril Arano with a smile on his face. "Such a shame that peaceful trade agreements cannot be swiftly made between our two independent peoples - the House Redoran and my company."

"A shame for you, no doubt, since your pockets won't be lined with _our_ gold," said Adril. "Now clear off."

Grudgingly, Shaddar barked out orders to his crew, having them lower the sails and prepare to sail westward. Eirik followed Crixus, who was making his way up to the helm's deck where Shaddar and his helmsman stood.

"We could have taken them on," Eirik said. "Just a few Shouts and those Redoran guards would have been tossed aside like chaff in the wind!"

"I've said it before and I will say it again," Crixus retorted. "I won't use your 'ancient Nord art' of the Voice to cheapen a fair fight with an enemy. I'm not Talos, whatever you or your false gods might say!"

"So we've come all this way for nothing?" Eirik asked. "Your attempt at a trap is as futile as the Great War."

"One more word about the Great War," Crixus retorted angrily. "And I'll throw you into the sea with my bare hands!"

Eirik chuckled. "A thin-bodied, washed-up old Colovian scoundrel against a Nord warrior in the prime of his life? Not without Gorak or Torgrim as your double, you mean."

"I don't need Torgrim or Gorak to take you down!" Crixus retorted.

"Gentlemen!" Shaddar spoke suddenly. "There will be no brawling at the helm while I am present."

"But he started it!" Crixus retorted.

"I have asked for silence!" Shaddar said sternly. "And silence is what we will have if we wish to land on Solstheim."

Eirik and Crixus approached Shaddar as the ship was pulling away out of the Raven Rock wharf.

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

The old Redguard cast his eyes here and there and then turned his back to the helm, bending down as much as his old bones could allow him - he was easily a score of years older than Crixus - and brought out from his robes a map which he unfurled upon the deck before them. Both Eirik and Crixus examined what was laid before them: a map of Solstheim.

"Raven Rock," Shaddar began, speaking in a hushed voice. "Is located in this cove area on the south-western coast of Solstheim. According to local legends, the Skaal have always lived on the north-eastern corner of the island, even as far back as the time of the Nerevarine."

"So?" Eirik asked.

"If we will be denied permission to land in Raven Rock," Shaddar said. "We will simply sail around the southern coast of Solstheim and arrive here on the eastern coast, where we will go ashore as planned."

"But the elves have owned Solstheim since the High King of Skyrim gave it to them hundreds of years ago," Eirik said. "Surely they know all of the lands of their island and will be watching us."

"Aha," Shaddar said wisely. "But going south, we will be hidden under the clouds of ash being constantly blown northward from Vvardenfell. Their eyes will not see us on our way around to the eastern side of the continent."

"I still think it's too risky," Eirik said.

"Well, what would you have preferred?" Crixus asked. "Shouting those damn dirty Dunmer out of your path with your Voice and go walking up to the Skaal village, only to be arrested on your return?"

"Look who hates the Dunmer now," Eirik chuckled.

"I've spent too much time in Morrowind to feel otherwise," Crixus said. "But it's not right what your Ulfric does to them in Windhelm." Eirik sighed in disgust. "You Nords made a pact to let the Dunmer live independently in your land, you can't go back on your word!"

"Are you incapable of telling the truth?" Eirik asked.

"Oh, go f..."

"I said no fighting!" Shaddar said sharply. "Now, if this is going to work, I will have to ask you lot to go below deck. It will be getting very hot and sooty once we pass under the ash-clouds and it will be best for you all to remain below deck. And quietly as well!"

Eirik went back below, but Crixus remained. Once again Eirik felt confident that he had come out on top of the argument. There was no excuse, no defense, for what Crixus had said and his only recourse was to rail and insult as usual. But Eirik found that, for some reason, his temper was not flaring up around Crixus in their debates. Perhaps he had learned to control himself, or perhaps he had learned what made Crixus angry in their talks? With this in mind, he passed down the stairs into the lower deck, only to find Torgrim blocking the way in front of him.

"I see that the legends about you are far from true," he said. "You wear that fancy armor, yet you fight with words like a woman."

"Bark on, dog," Eirik replied. "I have no interest in you. Now stand aside."

"Not until I've taught you a lesson, pup," Torgrim said. "I shan't be called a dog, not by some milk-drinking rebel!"

"I really don't have time for this," Eirik said.

"Coward!" Torgrim roared.

"_Gaan...Lah Haas!_" Eirik shouted.

The large, strong Torgrim crumbled to the floor deck as the Thu'um left him physically drained and exhausted, as if he had spent a full day's work on an empty stomach. Doubtless Crixus would talk about how much of a coward this made Eirik and how alike he was to Ulfric and his "murder" of King Torygg, but Crixus was not here and Eirik was tired of dealing Crixus and his Imperial-loving toadies. He was not half-way down the hall when Lydia, who had departed back to the cargo hold shortly after she learned that they wouldn't be going ashore, poked her head out from the cargo hold door.

"Is everything alright, my thane?" she asked. "I heard you Shouting."

"Everything's fine, for now," Eirik said. "We just won't be going ashore any time soon."

* * *

><p>All throughout the night, the Red Dog sailed around the southern coast of Solstheim. On the main deck, Shaddar commanded the ship with a minimal crew, their faces covered to keep out the ash, while the rest went down below. Eirik and Lydia remained in their hold, bundled in their warm, woolen cloaks and talking idly about this and that. Torgrim had not appeared after Eirik incapacitated him. They could not sleep all through the night, even though they were both weary. The hours passed by and they seemed to have run out of things to talk about: at this, they laid down in their cloaks side by side, as they had done since the first time they had begun journeying together. There they lay for a while, wrapped in their cloaks and the warmth of each other's bodies, heeding only the swaying of ocean waves upon the hull and the creaking of the wooden planks of the ship. Eirik's mind wandered back to Mjoll and he wondered where she was, sleeping alone perhaps on her quest in the inn of Dawnstar with those nightmares about or in some cold fort or cave somewhere else.<p>

"My thane," Lydia suddenly spoke. "May I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," Eirik replied.

"Do you think the war will ever end?" she asked. "I mean, I know that a Nord should always strive for a noble death, a sure path to Sovngarde. But I mean this civil war: do you think it will ever end?"

"I've been wondering about that," Eirik said. "There's so much bad blood between the people of Skyrim all because of this war that the Thalmor started and the Empire have been upholding."

"The Thalmor?" Lydia asked. "How do you figure they started it?"

"They enforced the White-Gold Concordant from the beginning," Eirik began. "They outlawed the worship of Talos, they started the Great War which gave those damn Reachmen the opportunity to take Markarth, which led to the Markarth Incident." He sighed.

"What's wrong, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"Nothing, it's just..." Eirik mused. "I just saw before me stretched out the last thirty or so years of this whole damn conflict with the Dominion, like a big tapestry with each event - the execution of the Blades, the White-Gold Concordant, the secession of Hammerfell, even the Civil War - as a thread that was sewn and spun together. And when I looked at them all together, what I saw..."

"What did you see?" Lydia asked.

"Exactly what I've known since I left Bruma," Eirik said. "And what Crixus knows despite himself. The Empire may have won the Battle of the Red Ring, but they lost the war with the Dominion. When the Dominion gave their demands to the Emperor, they asked for half of Hammerfell, the banning of Talos worship and the disbanding of the Blades. What they gained at the end of the war was exactly that. The Dominion and their Thalmor leaders sacrificed a legion or more of their own people to gain through treaty what they couldn't gain in battle.

"But the big picture, the grand design of the Dominion which I saw in these events, was the same thing I had seen in Elenwen's office in just six simple words: the First War with the Empire. The Dominion had no intention of a victory by conquest with this war, only to cripple the Empire beyond repair, and this they achieved. This will leave the Empire open and vulnerable to their _Second_ War with the Empire."

"Are you having doubts about who you chose to fight for, my thane?" Lydia asked. "Do you wish to defect to the Empire?"

"No," Eirik replied. "I believe that Ulfric has the right of it: the Empire did nothing but bow to the Thalmor and now expects all of us to do likewise. But there should be a third option, one that sees the Empire returned to a place of strength without sacrificing the dignity and heritage of the people of Skyrim."

"If there's anyone who can make that a reality, my thane," Lydia stated. "I think that it would be..."

Just then a knock sounded at the door. Lydia rose up and pulled open the door, where Gorak stood, dressed in his Legion armor with a large cloak that was made out of a single bear pelt.

"Captain wants you top side," he said in his deep, grumbling voice. He then turned around and walked away.

Eirik and Lydia girded themselves in their armor, wrapped their cloaks around themselves and made their way out of the hull. When they arrived, they were greeted by a clear, unclouded sunrise from across the sea to the east. The sky and the sea were all alight with fire from the glow of the rising sun, and to the west, the isle and the peaks of Solstheim appeared to be all aflame as well. Near at hand, Eirik saw Shaddar ordering several smaller boats prepared to disembark to the shore.

"There you are," the old Redguard said, turning towards Eirik and Lydia. "We've dropped anchor off the eastern coast of Solstheim. You and your servant may go ashore with Crixus if that is still your plan."

"My plan?" Eirik asked.

"He means _my_ plan," Crixus spoke up. Turning around, Eirik saw the Colovian standing behind Lydia, clad once more all in black.

"Ah yes, your trap," Eirik said.

"I'm not planning any damn trap!" Crixus shouted. "Just get in the boat. Don't you want to find out what that Skaal shamaness wants of you?"

Eirik grumbled, but then made his way to one of the three boats going onto shore. Lydia followed after him while Crixus joined them as well, throwing his bow into the boat before he climbed in first.

"Who else is going with us?" Eirik asked.

"Rayya, Torgrim, Gorak and Eld," Crixus replied.

From behind there was heard several gasps and Eirik and Lydia turned around to see what might be the matter. From out of the hold of the ship there came a tall woman with pale-grey skin. As she rose, it was then that Eirik realized that she must be the giantess Eld. She was easily twelve feet tall, with elvish ears and ritualistic scars covering her body. In one hand was a staff roughly fifteen feet tall with a six foot blade on each end. As the giant rose to her full height, Eirik saw Torgrim walking out behind her, a look of loathing upon his face as he glared at Eirik.

* * *

><p>It did not take the three boats long to cross the span between the Red Dog and the coast of Solstheim. Once they reached the coast, Eld climbed out of the boat, the icy cold waves of the shore barely coming up to her knees, and dragged the boats one by one onto shore. After they cleared the coast, the small party made their way up the snow-clad hills, following what appeared to be a line of smoke higher up through a grove of pines.<p>

"That could be them," Crixus said, pointing to the smoke.

"I've never been to Solstheim before," Torgrim said to Crixus. "Where is this exactly that we're going?"

"The village of the Skaal," Eirik replied.

"I wasn't asking you, milk-drinker," Torgrim stated, then turned back to Crixus.

"A village of wild Nords," Crixus said. "They live outside of the law of House Redoran, so they won't object to us being there. Of course, they're not part of the Empire either, at least not yet."

"More outlaws and rebels," Torgrim said. "Just the place this one would fit in nicely with, eh?" He thumbed back to Crixus, and they both laughed.

"No, they're just idiots," Crixus said after a good laugh. "Just like the Thirsk."

"I've heard of the Thirsk," Rayya spoke up. "They were Nords who established themselves independent from the Skaal, I believe."

"Yes, that's true," Crixus replied. "I've seen them before, when I was on Solstheim. They're idiots and milk-drinkers. They lost their hall to a bunch of little rieklings."

"What are rieklings?" both Eirik and Torgrim asked as one.

"Tiny bastards," Crixus said. "About two feet high, ride on the feral ice bulls native to this island. They have a strange obsession with hoarding things. Any way, they took the hall of the Thirsk and they've been too cowardly to get it back."

"When have you seen them?" Eirik asked. "I don't remember seeing them when we were on Solstheim before, and we've been this way as well."

"I did some work for that wizard Neloth in a Dwemer ruin just south of here," Crixus said. "That was how we were able to defeat Miraak, thanks to what I did there. That was when I saw those Thirsk cowards."

"When?" Eirik asked.

"Do I have to tell you everything I do?" Crixus asked. "There are some things I just do on my own, completely independent of your life."

There was silence as they crunched on through the snow. Meanwhile, Lydia walked over to where Eirik and Rayya walked.

"So, this is Solstheim, then?" Lydia asked. "Not much to look at. Kind of like the Pale, I'd say. Hard, cold and unforgiving."

They walked on in dead silence, meeting nothing more dangerous than a fox. It helped having a giant lumbering behind them who could crack skulls with her bare hands. For a while they continued, the air growing colder and the wind blowing harsher upon their backs. After many hours passed, the tops of wooden huts and houses could be seen poking their heads above the snow that covered them. By and by, several figures clad in thick, heavy furs approached them, with spears, swords, bows and axes in hand. They began to form a circle around the adventurers and they did not look friendly.

"Don't harm them," Eirik said. "They're who we're after. They're the Skaal." Eirik walked up to them with hands held up. "I am a friend of the Skaal. We come in peace."

Last to arrive in the group of Skaal was Frea Stornsdottir, elder shaman of the Skaal. She noticed Eirik and Crixus and told the others to stand down as she approached. Eirik saw that she was still clad in the carved Nordic armor that Mjoll wore, seemingly unchanged from how he had seen her so many months ago when they left Solstheim after defeating Miraak. Only now she seemed to be much more careworn and stressed. Her eyes showed signs of having not slept in many long nights.

"Hail, Skaal-friend," Frea greeted. "It has been a long time since you freed my people from the tyranny of Miraak. We welcome you back to our village."

"Some welcome," Crixus said cynically as he gazed at all the armed Skaal around them.

"Your pardon, Skaal-friend," Frea said to Crixus. "But these are desperate times for my people. We have been wary ever since..." She looked about, then quieted down. "We shall speak more of this later. For now, you are welcome to come into our village. We will share what food we have with you, but I fear that it will not be as much as it was before."

Frea led them to the large Skaal hut where they were welcomed in to a hearth-warmed shelter from the cold while the other Skaal went about their business. Eirik was bemused for several reasons: firstly, he was bemused because of the less-than-friendly reception of the Skaal. Secondly, he was bemused because Frea had called Crixus 'Skaal-friend' as well. And lastly, he was bemused because none of the Skaal seemed at all perturbed about Eld. Inside the hut, he sat down with Lydia and Crixus next to Frea as Gorak, Rayya, Torgrim and Eld sat across from them on the other side of the hut. She served them meat and some goat's milk. The meat was meager and stringy and the milk was cold, but Eirik and Lydia enjoyed the shift from Colovian hard-tacks.

"Now that we are all seated," Frea said. "I can tell you why I have called you to this place."

"You couldn't before because of the others, I take it," Crixus said with a sly smile on his face. "A real statement of your honor and integrity, you know, lying to your people and keeping secrets from them."

"This coming from the king of secrets," Eirik retorted.

"You and your housecarl," Crixus pointed to Eirik. "Should really watch your tongues around me. I have Eld and Gorak and Torgrim. One more outburst out of you and I'll have Eld break your housecarl while I kill you myself." He gave a broad smile and then turned to Frea. "Please, go on."

"I see that we are not the only ones to have fallen on hard times," Frea said, looking at both Eirik and Crixus.

"Me? Hard times?" Crixus asked, then chuckled. "No, I'm doing rather well for myself. I just won't have this sheep's cunt insulting me just to appease his own fragile ego."

"Why did I ever believe that you had turned over a new leaf?" Eirik asked. "You're even worse than you were before."

"I can be worse if you want me to be, you ignorant little shit!" Crixus roared.

"People, please!" Frea interjected. "If you cannot leave squabbles aside, I will ask you both to leave this village."

"I can leave my qualms aside," Crixus said, then looked away and swiftly added: "This goat-fucker can't, though."

Eirik said nothing, but his hands clenched into a fist as Crixus sipped from his cup of goat's milk, then spat it back into the cup, muttering something about horker piss.

"I am sorry it does not sit with your tastes, Skaal-friend," Frea replied. "It is all we have."

"All you have?" Eirik asked.

"The All-Maker has tested us hard this winter," Frea began. "The snows have all but buried the northern half of the island, making these past few weeks hard for my people. Our food supplies are very low and there is no game to hunt, either in the north or in the ash-lands in the south. Nor can we rely on trade with Raven Rock as we have in past times, because lately they have stopped trading with us."

"Have you maybe asked them _why_?" Crixus asked.

"We cannot afford to send people south," Frea said. "All our strength is being directed at hunting for food."

"I thought you said there wasn't any game up here," Crixus prodded.

"There is not," Frea replied grimly. "But we have no choice. We must eat or we will surely starve to death." She sighed.

"Don't you have anyone to spare?" Eirik asked.

"No," Frea shook her head. "Many have been lost in the snows or wounded on the hunt, and these we...we tend to as best we can. There are already too few to send out into the fields to hunt."

"Then it seems," Crixus spoke up. "That now would be a good time for you to accept the help of the Empire. Where is your chieftain? I should be speaking to her instead."

Frea did not answer, but turned around to one lying behind her against the wall. Eirik had noticed this person while they had entered and thought nothing of it until Frea lifted the fur blanket from off the face. Lying underneath was a dark-haired Nord woman with a large vertical gash down her face from forehead to the bottom of her lower lip.

"Chieftain Fanari Strong-Arm," Frea said. "Was wounded hunting a horker. The wound was grievous and I have been using all of my skill to heal her." She covered the face of her chieftain with the fur blanket again and turned back to her guests, her face downcast.

"First my father Storn," Frea continued. "And now our chieftain. I have been given the full weight of being the ruler and protector of my people. Food is scarce, both from the lack of hunters and game and from thieves from the ash-lander bandits. But there is another threat coming, one which has threatened my people in times past, but has always been weathered. Now, I fear, we may not weather it in this age."

"If it's the will of your All-Maker," Crixus scoffed. "What's the problem?"

"We have not behaved wantonly against the All-Maker," Frea said, shaking her head in disbelief. "In every matter we have done as we have always done for generations. We are being tested, but we do not have to fail that test, not if there are Skaal-friends who can help us."

"So you plan on cheating your god?" Crixus chuckled. "Yeah, you didn't see what Miraak got for doing that little trick."

"Please, pay him no heed," Eirik spoke up. "Tell me, though: what is this other threat you've spoken of?"

Frea sighed. "The signs have been seen, at least one of them. My Storn told me of the legends his grandfather as a child, when the man-beasts came to our island and hunted freely: a pity that it has happened in my life-time."

"What?" Eirik asked. "What is it?"

Frea answered with only one word. "Bloodmoon."

Crixus smile faded, but the others looked on in surprise and confusion. At length Lydia spoke up.

"Uh, excuse me?" she asked. "What is Bloodmoon? I've never heard of it."

"Who is this one?" Frea asked Eirik.

"She is my servant Lydia," Eirik replied. "She is a skilled warrior and a brave woman."

"It is good to see the Dragonborn," Frea said. "Carry with such notable company. As for the Bloodmoon, it is something of a legend among my people. Once in an age, the demon Hircine will come into the world and lead the man-beasts on a great hunt across the island. None now living remember the hunt, for the last one took place in the time of the Bloodskal, whom the elves in the ash-lands call 'Nerevarine.'"

"Then how do you know that it could be happening again?" Crixus asked.

"My father told me of the signs that would precede the Bloodmoon," Frea replied. "First is the coming of the Hounds, which I know is near. The very land cries out with the blood of those slain by the first arrivals. The next sign is the Fire from the Eye of Glass, a plume of flame upon the surface of Lake Fjalding to the south of this village. The third sign is the Tide of Woe, when the bodies of many horkers wash up dead on the northern shores of the island. I fear this might have already come to pass with the sudden shortage of their game. The final sign is when the smaller moon turns red like blood, then the beasts roam free across the island."

Silence fell upon them all as they listened eagerly to what Frea was saying. Eirik saw that it was Crixus who seemed the most concerned of the bunch. Torgrim, Gorak and Eld ate quietly while Rayya and Lydia listened intently. There was a reason this Redguard huscarl was called bright; for she kept her ears and eyes opened and, aside from a quick wit, knew much.

"So what happens now?" Eirik asked. "How do we fit into this?"

"My people will defend themselves against this," Frea said. "As we have always done. But we are in such a sorry situation that we cannot hope to defend and hunt food for ourselves." She turned to Crixus. "I am not cheating the All-Maker, I am helping my people rise to this challenge. I do not ask you..." She turned over to Eirik. "...either of you to do more or less than what you wish to do. If you are willing..."

"I am willing," Eirik spoke up.

"And I," Lydia added.

"Fool!" Crixus snarled. "Never agree to something before knowing what you're agreeing to!"

"I do not ask you to do anything greater than what you did before," Frea spoke up. "All I ask is that you search the island for my people who are lost. See if they live still and bring them back to the village."

"Easy enough, even considering our outlawed position," Crixus stated.

"Do you agree?" Frea asked.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Crixus said swiftly, feigning disinterest. "Now, what's the pay?"

"Pay?" Frea asked.

"Well, yes," Crixus replied. "I don't work for free, and whatever you're paying us for this, I want double of what he gets." He pointed to Eirik.

"We have no money," Frea stated. "Our trading with the elves in the ash-land have always been for food, hunting tools and cloth. We never charged them money for our goods."

"Another reason you're in the shitter," Crixus said under his breath. "Well, if there's no pay, I won't be attached to it."

"He will help you," Torgrim spoke up suddenly. "We all will, and there will be no pay."

"Torgrim, don't!" Crixus interjected.

"This people need help," Torgrim said, turning to Frea. "And help you we will."

Eirik looked at the tall Nord with a new light. Aside from his crass behavior and his love for the Empire, Eirik knew very little else about this pale mountain of a man. Yet when he heard him offer his services and those of Crixus, he saw a different look in his eyes. It was a look he had seen in Mjoll's eyes when she spoke of the people of Riften. Whatever he might have been, his care for the Skaal seemed to be genuine.

Meanwhile, he mentally began to prepare himself for what would come next. The day was clear and it was still morning: plenty of time to go hunting for the lost Skaal across the snowy mountains of the uplands of Solstheim.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I try to make quick updates for this story, but chapters don't seem to be coming out any sooner or shorter than three thousand words. I hope things don't take a turn for the worse. My brother just did a really big dick move where he threatened to A] take away my use of his laptop privilege [the only way i can work on any story when I'm not at the college since I don't have a working computer - burnt-out hard-drives NOT viruses] and B] threatened to not help me get to work [I'm almost twenty-four and don't have a car - the shame, I know - because my car was sold when we moved and with college books peaking three hundred bucks apiece, I really don't have money to spare for getting a car]. And why would he do such a dickish action, you may ask? Why, because he is of the belief that the Red Mountain's eruption caused the collapse of the city of Winterhold...about a hundred and twenty years after the fact. And he wants to bring in plate tectonics and erosion into why it took a hundred years to collapse, but then all those forces of nature can be negated by "magical barriers" when it comes to why the College survived. I, on the other hand, think that it might have been a failed experiment or something from the College mages: they couldn't stop it and they felt that their knowledge and lore and secrets were more worthy of saving than half the people of Winterhold and raised said barriers around the city and let the rest fall into the sea. And because he was SO convinced in his right-ness, he was ready to revoke any opportunity of writing or getting to work just because I disagree with him [and what's worse, he's never this way about the Empire or Ulfric or those god-killing Dunmer, only about the College of Winterhold])<strong>

**(Lots of interesting stuff in this chapter, like Gorak's ward Eld the Giant [title from a real _jotnar_ from the Norse tradition as well as the third album of Norwegian band _Enslaved_. I also decided to pull the Bloodmoon into the story, or at least part of, as well as go on into the next part of the story. Like in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, I'm going to say that Frea gets unfairly overlooked by the _Elder Scrolls_ fandom in exchange for Aela the scantily-clad Huntress [even Mjoll, who is the butt-end of jokes about Grimsever, thieves and her friendship with Aerin, receives more attention than Frea]. Of course she will return in my stories, this one included. [seriously, she doesn't even get a category in the Character selection on here for _Elder Scrolls_ stories, whereas Isaac ben-Abraham of the Bible, NOT Issac - seriously did the moderators of this site not even spell-check their names? You can even go to the Bible, both Old and New Testaments, and look up the name and it is ALWAYS spelled I-S-A-A-C! - gets a whole category to his own, even though, of the three pre-Mosaic patriarchs, Isaac had the least to do as far as spiritual and political and social action.])  
><strong>


	12. Call of the Hounds

**(AN: One of the good things about missing out on indoctrination class [-cough- I mean biological anthropology] due to the rain today is that I get to stay in and write! Yay!)**

**(I know it happened longer ago, but I just have to get this off my chest because the Canadian band Valfreya [which I follow on the book of Faces] brought it up. Once my brother found this gif on Tumblr which had on the top the Stormcloak emblem and on the bottom a picture of that bastard shit-faced dick-sucking back-stabbing Jew-hating Aryan cunt varg vikernes flipping his hair all happy-go-luckily as he's being taken to prison after his big "i don't give a fuck about the law" smiling for the cameras in the Norwegian court. Of course my brother, and all of you Imperial-supporters [i know you're out there] probably think this is cute because cunt grishnakh is racist and Ulfric is "racist" too, ho ho ho, aren't I cute because I support religious intolerance? Of course, me saying my mind, like I did on _Joshua King of Heaven,_ will probably spawn a thousand reviewers who are just burzum fans who want to show me how hard they suck his white dick [what's odd is that at least half of these people probably consider themselves tolerant, liberal social justice types...yet they support this neo-Nazi fucker. Go figure]. To that I tell you to kindly fornicate someplace else where I am not!)  
><strong>

**(By the way, Dunmer are racist, so to call out the Nords for their treatment of the Dunmer is akin to a pot calling a kettle black. Also, don't you believe it when the Dunmer say that they refuse to help the Stormcloaks because "this is not our war". They're hiding Imperial weapons in the New Gnisis Corner-club! And I am a _much_ better musician than cunt grishnakh because, unlike him, I can actually play guitar solos! And I can sing, really sing, with notes and keys and ranges and stuff, not just scream like an idiot.)  
><strong>

**(Okay, I'm done ranting, we can do the story now. I actually planned out a little of what will happen ahead, so I'm not just making it all up as I go along this time!)**

* * *

><p><strong>Call of the Hounds<br>**

Instead of making ready to search the island, Crixus asked Frea if they could have a few minutes alone, to which she retired from the great hall. After she left, Crixus called the others towards the fire. Torgrim, Gorak and Rayya came forward, but Eld the Giantess made her way outside of the hall, seemingly to follow after Frea. Once the door closed a second time, Crixus began.

"Well then," he said. "Now that it's just us, what do you say?"

"I say," Torgrim stated. "That we start searching for her people now."

"No," Rayya objected.

"No?" both Eirik and Torgrim said at once.

"We're not exactly here legally, are we?" she asked. "What happens if we go out now, under broad daylight, and we're seen by somebody from Raven Rock? We might have more on our hands than we'd have bargained for if we're spotted."

"I agree," Crixus said. He then turned to Eirik. "Well?"

"Well what?" Eirik asked.

"Aren't you going to object?" Crixus asked. "Some stupid nonsense about death and glory and sovereign guard or whatever you call it?"

"It's Sovngarde," Eirik replied. "And if you must know, I agree with Rayya. We're outnumbered and going out openly would be meaningless."

"Whatever happened to running in sword a-swinging?" Crixus asked. "I thought you Nords didn't believe in strategy!"

"I'm not an idiot, you know!" Eirik retorted.

"Could have fooled me," Crixus said aside.

"Are you two going to start bickering again?" Rayya asked. "Or perhaps you can keep it together long enough to plan our next move?"

"They're not bickering," Torgrim said. "Crixus is just putting that milk drinker in his proper place."

"Warriors don't fight with words," Gorak grumbled.

"She's right," Lydia spoke up. "As long as we're here, we might as well help out. So what do we do next?"

Crixus rolled his eyes, then turned to his companions. "If we're all agreed on stealth, we shouldn't all leave the village all at once. I'll ask around, see if we can score some of their fur rags to wear while we're searching the island. Only one or two at a time, so we don't draw too much attention. Anyone who sees us from afar will think we're just some of the Skaal hunting or whatever these savages do. If we absolutely must go into the ash-land, always come to me first. And, I'm sorry to say, Gorak, Rayya, you two won't be going into the ash-fields."

"Why not?" Gorak asked.

"We stick out," Rayya replied, her face held down. "There are no Redguards on Solstheim and only one orc in a town filled with Dunmer. We'll only attract attention, even if we dress like the Skaal." She sighed. "So what will Gorak, Eld and I be doing while you, Torgrim, the Dragonborn and Lydia are off searching the island? I assume you won't be staying behind, seeing as how you are fair-skinned enough to pass for a Nord?"

"Fuck you," Crixus replied. "Don't call me a Nord or I'll cut your tongue out, sand-monkey."

"Call me _that_ again," Rayya replied. "And you'll lose more than just a tongue, elf-lover."

"I'm no elf-lover!" Crixus growled.

"Your empire is!" Rayya retorted. "Don't think that because I hold my tongue while you and the Dragonborn bandy words like angry little children, that I am your servant. Your empire betrayed my people, but _we_ were the brave the ones. We fought and drove the elves into the sea after _two_ wars, and yet your empire capitulated, you bowed down to the elves. You sold us out!"

"That will be enough, Redguard!" Torgrim spoke, rising to his feet, his voice deep, grim and threatening.

"Do you see?" Eirik said, rising to his feet in Rayya's defense. "Do you still insist on fighting a losing battle?"

"I have an orc _and_ a fucking giant on my side!" Crixus shouted, turning suddenly to Eirik. "You don't get to talk again, do you hear me?"

"Enough!" Gorak roared. His voice was so deep and booming that everyone stopped their clamoring and turned to the large orc. The door to the great hall opened and the dark-haired head of Eld poked inside, eager to see who Gorak needed crushed.

"You forget your place, _friend_," Crixus said through clenched teeth.

"If my place is here," Gorak said, then turned to Rayya. "And yours, then we will help these people." He then walked over to the doorway and spoke something to Eld in the language of the Orsimer, which neither Eirik nor Crixus knew.

"Gorak is right," Rayya said, throwing her tagelmust over her head. "I will go out there and see how I can help them." With the veil hanging off the side, she made her way to the doors and passed by Gorak and Eld. Crixus grumbled and walked off after her.

"Where are you going?" Torgrim asked.

"I want to ask them for the clothes we need," he said, not bothering to turn back as he passed through the doors. Meanwhile, with only the Nords left in the room, Torgrim cast angry eyes at Crixus.

"A mean trick you pulled on me, milk drinker," he said. "Next time, I'll stuff my fist in your mouth before you have a chance to Shout."

"He stands not alone," Lydia said, stepping up to Eirik's right hand.

At this, Torgrim laughed. "You? You're a Nord, but you look as small as an overgrown wood elf. I wager I could toss you with one hand."

"Enough," Eirik groaned. "I'm going for a walk. Lydia, follow me."

"Alright, then."

* * *

><p>Time passed slowly as Eirik and Lydia walked about the glade of the Skaal village. They saw little of Crixus or the others and that was enough for both of them. As the day started growing old, Eirik and Lydia found themselves sitting on a rock they had cleared of the snow. It was on the edge of the glade, open to the cold air from the east. From there they could see all the way to the coast and the Red Dog, now so small that it could be hidden by a thumb's size. Behind them, they could hear the deep grumble of Torgrim's voice along with the swift, measured tone of Rayya as they conversed with the thickly-accented Skaal villagers behind them.<p>

"This land is beautiful, my thane," Lydia said, her eyes gazing out eastward towards the endless sea. "It feels strangely like home. Did you get a look at that tall pillar of rock just north of the village? They remind me of the standing stones back home."

"Aye, I saw them," Eirik said.

"I mean, yes, it's cold here, damn cold," Lydia continued. "Gods, this cold wind would make the icy chills of the Pale feel like a summer's breeze. But it's still very beautiful. I can see why you and Mjoll went here so often."

"We only came here once or twice," Eirik said. "And yes, she did find it beautiful. That was also when we first...well, when _I_ at least knew."

"Knew what, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"That I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her," Eirik said. "That I wanted to be the sword at her side in every battle, on every journey."

"That's what I'm here for," Lydia added.

Eirik sighed. "I know. And I appreciate all that you've done, but..."

"But what?" Lydia asked.

Eirik shook his head. "I don't know."

"You know," she began. "The thought had crossed my mind more than once. I mean, you already have what most men seek in a wedding. But I'm guessing..."

"What?" Eirik asked, turning to Lydia.

For a moment their eyes met, just as it had in a glade in Hjaalmarch what felt like a lifetime ago and in another era of Mundus. Neither of them could say anything as they gazed, yet deep inside Eirik knew that what he was feeling was false. He was married to Mjoll and they were going to have a child together. _That_ was the life he had chosen and that was the life that made him happy. So why did he feel this way about his huscarl?

"Uh," Lydia stammered, then slowly gaining speed as her mind found something else. "I...'m guessing...that Crixus is taking quite a bit of time getting clothes for us. I think I should see what's up. Did you see where he went?"

"Into that little hut behind the great hall," Eirik said, pointing to the one in question at the southern end of the village.

"Thank you, my thane," Lydia said, curtly bowing as she rose up and trudged back up the hill to the village then turned towards the shaman's hut. Moments later she returned looking at the ground, her face all red even more so than from the cold wind.

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"Oh, I just, uh," she stammered. "Walked in on Crixus and that Skaal shaman Frea."

"Yes?" Eirik inquired.

"She was, uh, shining his sword, if you know what I mean," Lydia replied.

"His sword?" Eirik asked.

"Yeah, you know," Lydia said, then held up her right hand in a closed fist to her mouth. "Like that."

Eirik's eyes bulged as he realized exactly what she was saying. "But she's the spiritual leader of the Skaal, _and_ she's a Nord! How could he do something so selfish and depraved?"

"Hey, he's a man, isn't he?" Lydia asked. "And don't say you wouldn't were you in his position because we both know you have."

"If I recall, it was _your_ idea." he replied.

"It was the will of the gods, my thane, not my idea." Lydia replied. "Personally, I don't ever want to have a man's cock between my lips for as long as I live."

"Then why?" Eirik asked. "Why did you do it that one time?"

"The goddess said you needed instruction," she replied. "And that was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes who knew you. And it was only once and it will not happen again. I'll earn my honor on my feet, not on my knees or my back. The hell you should talk, though, my thane. Didn't you and that spell-sword Marcurio get drunk and go into Riften, striking the Thieves Guild and bedding a little wood elf along the way?"

"How did you know that?" Eirik asked.

"It was after the siege of Castle Volkihar," Lydia stated. "I wandered over to the other boat and listened in while Marcurio regaled Crixus and his friends with the story." She turned to Eirik, who was looking down towards the valley. "My thane, what is it?"

"I thought I saw something in the trees down there," Eirik said.

"What was it?"

"A man or a woman, I couldn't quite tell," Eirik replied. "But the hair, I distinctly remembered the hair. It was like a streaming banner soaked in fresh blood. I almost thought..."

"What?"

"I looked like..." Eirik began, but his words trailed off as he rose up and made his way down the hill. Swiftly Lydia came running up after him. It did not take them long to find, just a bow-shot down from where they were sitting, a pair of tracks in the snow. Suddenly there came a whistling noise and an arrow struck in the snow just at his feet. Lydia drew out her sword and Eirik turned around to where the arrow was shot and saw a figure standing in the snow, clad in a thick fur coat and familiar wolf armor similar in style to the Legion armor. The figure had a bow drawn and flaming red hair.

"The next one's going in your heart!" a familiar voice spoke.

"You know who I am, Aela!" Eirik said. "Why are you firing at me?"

"Harbinger?" she asked.

"Aye, it is me," Eirik replied. "What are you doing on Solstheim? I thought I gave you specific instructions to stay behind and look after the Companions in my absence."

Aela lowered the bow but did not take her hands off the arrow and bow as she crossed through the snow to where they stood. As she approached, Eirik's mind began to wander back to what Frea had told him earlier this morning and what he knew about Aela the Huntress.

"I should be asking you that same question," Aela began. "From what I've heard, House Redoran has closed Solstheim to activity from Skyrim. We had to land several miles south of Raven Rock."

"'We?'" Eirik asked.

"Farkas, Vilkas and myself," Aela said. "We all came here in one of the drekkars we brought to the Siege of Volkihar Castle. We hired a few sailors in Solitude for the rowing and arrived here about a day ago."

"Why?" Eirik asked. "And who have you left in charge of the Companions?"

"Vignar Grey-Mane," Aela replied. "He's an elder, well respected by the others. True, he doesn't fight, but these are desperate times. First we lose Kodlak, then you..."

"And then you leave your post and directly disobey my orders?" Eirik asked.

"You're not our leader, just the Harbinger," Aela retorted.

"But you still haven't answered my question," Eirik said. "Why are you here on Solstheim?"

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Sorry for the expletive-filled author's note at the beginning, I just had to speak my mind, especially since it was Skyrim-related and I'm sick of people forgiving Dunmer racismslavery just because a] it was in _Morrowind_ and _Morrowind_ is cool and b] the Dunmer are neither human nor white, so anything they do is automatically forgiven them, but then the Stormcloaks are equated with one of the most evil people in the world and that's okay? You can see how that would piss me off so!)**

**(On another note, I got to expand a bit on our characters. Rayya, being a Redguard, while she does work with Crixus from time to time, does not hold with his Empire-first ideology, since that would be seen by a good majority of Redguards as betrayal since it sold half of Hammerfell to the Dominion. Torgrim, despite hating Eirik for being a "rebel", actually does see himself as a good guy - he believes in the Nine [yes, the Nine, not the Eight], hopes to spend eternity in Sovngarde and cares about people other than himself. Lastly there was the delightful awkwardness between Eirik and Lydia. Also a hint at some of Crixus' debaucheries, which we will hear more of in _The Dragon of the South_. Also, since I'm somewhat on a roll, I think I will split the next story in two, so we get _The Dragon of the South_ and _Rise of the Dragon_. And I've probably given away what will happen in that chapter with that title [:(].)  
><strong>

**(Originally this was going to be longer, but I feel like I've posted far too many long chapters and so I split this one in two, so the next part will have the good part that I have been planning.)**


	13. Fire from the Eye of Glass

**(AN: Here's an interesting thought. Since "Bloodskal" is the nickname for the Nerevarine among the Skaal, the Bloodskal blade is the blade of the Nerevarine...huh, never really occurred to me before.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Fire from the Eye of Glass<br>**

Aela did not immediately answer, her silence even more telling on Eirik's fears that a plain and straight-forward answer. What she had let on was that the other two of the Inner Circle, Farkas and Vilkas, whom he knew to be werewolves, were on Solstheim as well. Despite what this meant as far as her loyalty to him as Harbinger meant, it also meant something possibly even more sinister.

"He asked you a question," Lydia spoke up.

"I know, huscarl, I know," Aela replied, though there was no anger in her voice. "But by the horns of Hircine, I have no idea why."

"You mean," Eirik spoke up. "You and the Circle packed up without my leave, throwing all caution and the unity of the rest of the Companions to the wind, and you don't know why?"

"You were the one who left Whiterun," Aela returned. "Remember? Because of your affiliation with the Stormcloaks."

"I at least had a reason," Eirik said firmly. "You have no reason at all, nor can you even come up with an excuse."

"I don't ask for pardon," Aela replied. "I'd come here just the same, so would the twins. We don't know why, but we know as sure as the sun will rise that _this_ is the place we need to be."

"Are you going to let them get away with this, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"It's none of your concern, huscarl," Aela stated. "You're not with us."

"I will reserve judgment," Eirik said. "You are free to go wherever you please, but if you harm these people, I will have no choice but to defend them to the death with my very life."

Aela clicked her tongue. "Well, then, wouldn't that be exciting? Getting to test your mettle in a real battle."

"On your way," Eirik groaned, wondering if he should have been firmer with her, then suddenly he remembered something and called out to her. "What is the day?"

"Today?" she asked. "Middas, I think. Twenty-eighth day of Morning Star." She then turned about and, with bow still in hand, disappeared into the trees.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, the Skaal were gathered about a bonfire in the midst of their camp. All were gathered here to keep warm, for the nights were still heavily entrenched in the cold chill of winter and the snows beyond the glade were deep. They passed around food and drink, most of which had been dried last summer or so and was still good though scarce. Some of the hunters regaled the outsiders with news of their hunts. These tales were fun to hear, though most of them ended in failure or the hunters almost being mauled. Eirik and Lydia sat with Morwen, the Skaal who had come to this village from Skyrim, and listened to the tales eagerly. Frea was busy in her hut taking care of Fanari the chieftain. While they were thus engaged, Crixus and Torgrim came in from their scouting which they had done that day while Eirik and Lydia remained in the village. Without another word, Crixus placed himself down at Eirik's left hand, took the skin of goat's milk from his hands, drank from it and then spat it out into the snow.<p>

"A full day of searching through eight feet of snow," Crixus grumbled. "And this is all they have?"

Eirik felt that the milk wasn't all that bad, but knew that arguing with Crixus was a losing battle. "What did you find?"

"I went south, Torgrim went west," Crixus began as he took the dried fruit cluster from the bowl in front of Eirik. "He said he got as far as the mountain when a couple of Reavers saw him. Felt that it would be best not to get involved so he lost himself in the snows. I, on the other hand, had to wade through the ash as well as the snow, and there are more than just Dunmer down there. Although, I am surprised anything can live down there." He then turned to Eirik. "So, what did you and Lydia find while idling around here?"

"Several things," Eirik said. "For one, the Companions are here."

"All of them?"

"Only the Circle," Eirik replied. "I don't know how much you know about them."

"Everything," Crixus stated. "Despite your rather ineffectual ban."

"And you were there when Frea told us about the Bloodmoon prophecy," Eirik stated.

"Yeah? So what?" Crixus asked. "Listen, prophecies and foretellings are all bullshit. Ignorant people end up just _looking_ for things they can call 'signs' or 'fulfillment' of their stupid prophecies, half of the time they themselves don't even know about it. And then when their prophecy doesn't happen, it's rescheduled or reworded so that it's still valid. Complete and total..."

"Tell me, then," Eirik said. "Did you go down by the coast?"

"Of course I did," Crixus replied. "I went that way right after I left the village."

"What did you see?"

"I saw the black sand and the pebbly shore," Crixus stated. "I saw ice and water and trees and I saw Reaver bandits."

"Were there horkers? Anywhere?"

"There...might have been a few," Crixus said diplomatically.

"Were they alive or were they dead?"

"Look, what difference does it matter if they're alive or dead?" Crixus asked. "They were probably poisoned by the water around here, its so full of ash from the Red Mountain. It's not a sign."

"And the Companions arrived," Eirik added. "Only the Circle."

"That doesn't prove anything," Crixus replied obstinately. "Maybe they had a job here, an animal needed to be exterminated or something. Besides, you're ignoring a sign or two. You're just _looking_ for something you want to find, not actually looking at things as they are."

"And how would you explain these?" Eirik asked.

"Random, unrelated events," Crixus stated smugly. "That's what all of life is filled with: random, unrelated events that tend to nothing and come to nothing in the end."

Suddenly there was a cry of amazement heard and people started looking southward, towards Lake Fjalding which was visible from the hill on which the Skaal village was built. As the people gathered, Eirik and Crixus and Lydia joined them and looked out with wonder as they saw, in the distance, a tall pillar of fire billowing forth from the surface of the lake. It seemed as though the lake itself were on fire, so bright was its brilliance.

Eirik turned to Crixus. "What do you say to that?"

"A cheap magician's trick," Crixus replied. "Any mage skilled in destruction magic could make fire come from the surface of water. It could even be a dragon fight, or anything. There's no reason it fits into any prophecy."

"We shall see in the morrow, then," Eirik said, the distant blaze caught in his dark brown eyes. "We shall see."

* * *

><p>The night passed without event and the next day dawned with Eirik and Lydia donning Skall garb before scanning the northern side of the island. According to Frea, the dark elves never ventured very far into the snowy uplands of the island and here the ice formed great walls and cliffs, which meant that they could pass through relatively safe. She warned them to watch out for the rieklings and bade them farewell. Crixus and Torgrim, meanwhile, went the way they had gone beforehand.<p>

North of the village, the entire island turned into a glacier. Eirik hadn't been on the underside of the glacier since his first visit to the island, and had not passed westward, onto the plateau of what Frea called the Mortrag Glacier. He and Lydia went that way, clad in the heavy fur garments of the Skaal. While the cold wind bit them one and all to the bone, the clothes kept them warm. The snow, however, was not in any way exaggerated; so deep it was in some places that they felt as though they were swimming through it. By the time they reached old Saering's Watch, they were cold, damp but grateful for the clothes which kept out most of the snow and cold.

"How much farther," Lydia breathed. "Do we have to go?"

"We're at the highest point on the north-eastern side," Eirik said. "This was where Mjoll, Crixus and I slew a dragon. You should have been there. The beast breathed fire on her and she rose up out of the melting snow, alive and kicking. Not a scratch on her."

"You sounded like you really admire her," Lydia replied.

"I did and I still do," Eirik answered with a smile. "She is a peerless warrior, no offense meant."

"None taken, my thane," Lydia said. "Although I would not personally call her a skilled warrior. She usually just runs right into the thick of battle and let the Nine decide what happens next. That's not a good trait to have, since it could lead to getting yourself killed."

Eirik sighed. He looked out at the sea, seeing that there was nothing on the islands, only a few smoldering camp-fires from bandit camps too far out to be of any issue. His huscarl's words stung him and he felt as though he had to say something, but was she really able to keep Mjoll's secret as well? Then again, they had a secret of their own which they had kept and were, to the best of his knowledge, still keeping. Would it be so wrong to show Lydia the same kind of trust and respect that Mjoll demanded?

"There is a reason she fought that way, you know," Eirik stated.

"Why is that?" Lydia asked.

He sighed again. "I don't know if you know this, but she told me a while ago about why she cannot be harmed, or _could_ not be harmed. Long ago, in one of her adventures in Cyrodiil, she saved a hag from a mountain lion. Because of that, the witch gave her the ability to take any wound or hurt and not die from it...on the stipulation that she remain a virgin for the rest of her days...or else lose it."

Lydia snickered at first, but a stern, disapproving look from her thane quickly quieted her laughter.

"So..." Lydia said slowly at first, no laughter or jest in her voice. "That's why she wouldn't surrender herself to you that easily. But you and she fucked, didn't you? So it's gone, then, right?"

"Aye," Eirik said ruefully.

"Wow, what dedication," she mused aloud. "Still, that whole story about saving a witch and everything seems rather far-fetched. If it weren't for the respect and honor that I have for you, my thane, I would have..."

"I know," Eirik stated through clenched teeth.

"I'm sure Crixus would already be on the ground laughing his ass off," Lydia stated. "Still, it _does_ seem rather far-fetched for a mere sorcerer. It could be something more powerful. I've heard stories about the dealings of Clavicus Vile."

"Who?" Eirik asked.

"Clavicus Vile," Lydia replied. "In Skyrim, it isn't a rare thing for more than one of your townsfolk to be a daedra worshiper. I hear quite a few tales as well in the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. Some say he appears as a little imp boy with a single horn on his head, while others say he appears as a taller mer wearing a horned mask. He grants people wishes with hidden stipulations, which made me think that maybe Mjoll fell prey to one of his tricks. It could be that that hag was Clavicus in disguise."

"I hope not," Eirik stated. "I've had enough of daedric princes to last me a lifetime. First there's Meridia and Azura pulling me this way and that, and then these vampires of Molag Bal, and Hermaeus Mora and now Hircine. What could possibly come next?"

"I wouldn't start saying that if I were you," Lydia spoke up. "There are several daedric princes who take delight in meddling with the affairs of mortals. Ol' Vile is one of them, Sheogorath, the lord of madness, is another."

"You seem to know a bit about the daedra, Lydia."

"I've heard things..."

"In the Bannered Mare in Whiterun?" Eirik finished.

"Yes, my thane," Lydia chuckled. "Also, Skyrim isn't as strict about who worships what as in Cyro..." She paused, drawing out her sword from her sheath.

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"Just beyond us," she pointed. "A little south, back by the end of that old Nordic wall, where we came up this way."

Eirik turned around and saw a figure approach, clad also in the wolf armor of the Circle. This one he recognized by the shoulder length dark hair and the great-sword that he was now wielding. Or at least he thought he recognized him until he remembered that some of the Companions referred to Farkas and Vilkas as 'the twins.'

"Who goes there?" Eirik asked.

"Is that you, Harbinger?" a voice asked.

"Aye, it is me," said Eirik. "Farkas?"

"No, it's Vilkas," came the reply. Slowly Vilkas approached, sheathing his sword as he saw more clearly the face of the Harbinger of the Companions. "It seems that you've come here as well, though I doubt for the same reasons that we have."

"We've already seen Aela," Eirik stated. "Where is Farkas?"

"I sent him back to the ships," Vilkas replied. "I'm on my way there myself. It seems like we're not the only ones visiting the island lately. There's a Thalmor camp to the west."

"What?" Eirik asked.

"I'm sure you know who the Thalmor are," Vilkas stated. "And if you don't, you _will_ know when you return to Whiterun. But they're here on Solstheim now, they have a camp on the north-west side of the island."

"Wait a minute," Eirik spoke. "Thalmor are the agents of the High Elf Dominion. Aren't they only after Talos-worshipers?"

"I'd say," Vilkas said. "They drove Fralia Grey-Mane out of her shop in Whiterun and set up a gallows in front of the Bannered Mare where they hang Talos-worshipers daily. Remember that old priest in Whiterun, the one who's always shouting about Talos and the Empire?"

"Heimskr, you mean?" Eirik asked. "He was killed the night I left Whiterun."

"They turned his house into their head-quarters in Whiterun," Vilkas stated. "I know some people criticized Balgruuf for what he did, but this is even worse. They've forced one of their own into Jorrvaskr as an honorary member, doubtless to keep watch on us to see if we decide to join the Empire or the rebels. I fear something bad is happening in Skyrim."

"Yes, but Thalmor on Solstheim?" Eirik asked. "What could they possibly want here? There aren't any Talos-worshipers here, this island doesn't even belong to Skyrim anymore, so it's not part of the Empire."

"Well, it doesn't seem to have stopped them, has it?" Vilkas added.

"Do you know what they were doing?" Eirik asked.

"There wasn't much activity that I could see," Vilkas reported. "But I did see one of those villagers tied up to a post in their camp. It looked like they were interrogating him."

Eirik's interest was suddenly aroused when he heard Vilkas say that one word. "Villagers? What villagers? Were they Nords?"

"Certainly wasn't a Dunmer," Vilkas stated.

Eirik nodded. "Thank you, Vilkas. You've been most helpful."

"We came here to hunt, Harbinger," Vilkas suddenly said, giving Eirik a stern glare. "I trust you didn't bring the Civil War here with you."

"I assure you these Thalmor had nothing to do with me," Eirik said. Vilkas began to walk away when suddenly Eirik stopped him. "Wait a minute, hunt? Is that why you and the others of the Circle are here? You're hunting?"

"Yes," Vilkas said. "We're hunting, and it was something we couldn't involve the others with. That's why Aela left Vignar in charge of Jorrvaskr, if those damn elves haven't killed him by now, that is."

"What are you hunting out here?" Eirik asked. "The Skaal are running out of game, the ash-lands are barren. What could there possibly be to hunt here?"

"Bears," came Vilkas' cryptic answer.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: While my new reviewers didn't seem to mind my explanation for Mjoll's "essential-ness" in <em>The Dragonborn and the Lioness<em>, the original viewers hated it. I mean, they kept saying 'that's bs, why don't you say she was raped?' or something of the sort. I don't use that quite often, mostly just with Serana since that is quite possible [Molag Bal being the lord of that action, you know]. But people hated that explanation, up until I brought in Crixus and they hated that he was a "second" Dragonborn as well. So after a time I wondered that maybe it wasn't a hag but Clavicus [whom I seem to be calling every odd name for the Devil - aka. "Old Scratch", "Old Hob" and "Old Nick" - in my head after seeing his likeness in pre-_Skyrim_ Elder Scrolls games].)**

**(Also my brother took great offense to Barbas' Brooklyn accent, which means I probably won't go into detail about that particular quest in any Skyrim-based story. Lastly, what do you all think about the presence of Thalmor on Solstheim? Is it "unfinished lore" or do you think their mining of stahlrim has a more sinister reason, as I believe? There are no Talos-worshipers on Solstheim, Ulfric Stormcloak has no presence here, the Empire has no presence here, so why are they here?)**


	14. A Conspiracy

**(AN: So, apparently, bush, meaning a shrubbery, a diminutive plant or stunted tree, is considered a four-letter dirty word by the PM system on here. I was typing something about the Burning Bush from Exodus 2 and it looked like i said something else with all those asterisks. Then again, if you know anything about the Canadian extremist known as "big red", you'd probably be saying that as well. And before you say "ha ha, you're naive, bush actually means...", yes, I know what it means. I wasn't referring to the forty-third [and according to some, last] American president or the other name for...that. If I do mention it in my works, I never call it "bush", nor do I refer to it as such in talking.)**

* * *

><p><strong>A Conspiracy<strong>

Lydia and Eirik made their way west, taking their leave of Vilkas and not bothering to report on what they had heard to the Skaal. The news of Thalmor on Solstheim was disturbing enough without the knowledge of them holding one of the Skaal captive. They passed down off of the icy plateau of Saering's Watch and slowly made their way west, onto the large icy shelf. The land around them inclined until it became a great, snow-clad mountain that made up the bulk of the northern part of Solstheim. To the left they could see the ruinous remains of the Temple of Miraak, forever unfinished now that the master had disappeared and the cultists no longer heard his voice in their heads.

Once they passed the ruins, they saw that the land directly westward was sloping downwards. Before their eyes they could see the sea and, afar off, a line of tall, white-capped mountains covered all below in black and gray. A little south, just now visible past the main girth of the mountain of Solstheim, they could see, along the shore, a few black dots clustered together on the shore of the gray lands beneath the mountains. This was the Dunmer city of Blacklight, one of the last cities in Morrowind to still have some measure of its Third Era strength. Though it had not escaped the two hundred years of ash from the Red Mountain, the ambitious and determined House Redoran had managed to force some kind of stability. But the eyes of the two Nords were carried back to the mountains, where they saw, a little beyond the white line of peaks, one peak taller than the rest but only by a hair's breadth. That peak was the top of Mount Anthor, the second-highest point in all of Skyrim.

"Home," Eirik mused, gazing out at the tiny peak of Anthor in the distance. "Soon we'll be back there, and all of its troubles will be upon us again."

"Why?" Lydia asked. "I mean, I know that honor is a big deal for you, it's something important to me as well. But what if the war goes ill. What will you do? Stay in Skyrim to die? Why not come here, to Solstheim? It's so detached from the problems of Skyrim that they don't even care about the dragons. Here we wouldn't have to worry about elves or the Empire or whatever, we could be..."

"No," Eirik shook his head. "The arm of the Dominion can reach this far, there won't be any place safe from them if the Empire falls."

"You sound like you're about to throw down your arms and support the Empire," Lydia stated.

"Never," Eirik chuckled. "The Dominion has turned the Empire against its own people with this civil war. The way things are going now, they don't need to destroy the Empire as it's already destroying itself."

"And what if it happens?" Lydia asked. "What then?"

"Then, as Aela said," Eirik sighed. "We will fight the Dominion, each and every one of us. And we will die and Sovngarde will be ours."

"Good thinking, my thane," Lydia said with a smile.

They went on, going carefully as the sloping hills became more and more steep. At times they were barely fighting to keep their feet from slipping upon the snow, most of which had been frozen solid and was neither malleable under foot nor soft upon their asses if they fell upon it. There were no passes on this side of the mountains, no goat trails or foot-path used by spell-swords or bandits. The reavers never came this far north, nor did the Skaal heard goats, especially in this region.

Carefully they picked their way west and down the side of the mountains. The place Vilkas had stated was on the north-western side of the island but, as they had learned from him before he left, there was no way down on the north-western end. They were about half-way down, clawing their way with picks they had been given by the Skaal with their gear before they had left the village. There was a noise heard above their heads further up the path that sounded like a question in another language, but it was no language either of them recognized or understood. To their ears, it sounded like gibberish.

"_Brelfik__?_" asked the voice.

For a moment, Eirik paused at the strange sight which his eyes met with when he looked up to see the speaker. There, standing in the snow on the path they had just made coming down, was a bristle-back boar the size of a dog. Upon its back was a small thing about the size of a child, but it was clearly no child of any race they knew. Its skin was blue and it was covered in fur that looked even less civilized than the fur clothes of the Skaal. On its head was a strange head-dress made of the scalp of some creature like a saber-cat, though obviously smaller in stature in order to fit this little thing's head. In its hand was a spear which it held ready as though it would throw it at them like a lance.

"Shor's balls!" Lydia exclaimed when she saw the little thing. "I don't know whether to pet it or throw my sword at it!"

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"I don't know," Lydia returned. "Do you think it's a riekling?"

The little blue thing looked at them curiously for a while, cocking its head to one side without making any other movement. The boar snorted, but the small creature made no move one way or the other. It then muttered another phrase: "_Bru cha!_" and then turned the boar around and hopped back up the trail out of sight.

* * *

><p>The day was swiftly passing on beyond the mountains to the west when they finally reached the shore at the bottom of the cliffs. Here they turned right, making their way northward. The black, pebbly shores were littered with the massive bodies of horkers lying here and there. Sometimes there were two or three large bodies piled on top of each other or strewn about here and there. The bodies stank and Eirik and Lydia could not bear to go near one out of sheer repulsion for the stench of rotting flesh. Yet even from afar they could see the marks across the massive horker bodies: marks like the claws of some large beast of wolf-kin.<p>

They followed the bodies of horkers along the coast for an hour still, until the sun was nothing more than a half disc floating on the edge of the Velothi Mountains to the west. Suddenly the trail of bodies came to an end as they rounded a side of the glacial cliff and saw, just before them on a sheltered cove, a camp with a wooden dock set up on the shore nearby. Against the side of the icy cliff they saw a small shack built but it seemed to be uninhabited. Near at hand, however, they saw several tall, gold-skinned elves in their golden armor and a few others in the characteristic black robes of the Thalmor. Anchored and docked at the make-shift dock was a small ship, roughly the size of a Nordic drekkar, whose sails were furled up but whose banner was black.

"Thalmor," Eirik said with a sneer.

"How many?" Lydia asked.

"Enough, I'd say," Eirik said. "But we don't have to take them on just by ourselves."

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked.

"We have powerful friends," Eirik said. "You met them in Sovngarde, remember?"

"The Tongues?" Lydia's expression changed at this news.

Eirik nodded and made his way towards the camp, head held high and eyes resolute on a post set up in the center of the town. Lydia followed on behind him, her shield firmly tied to her back. Several of the Thalmor seemed to be gathered around the post, speaking to something or someone there, but the wind and the crashing waves made it hard to tell what they were saying. By now, however, the sentries had spotted the newcomers and a rather tall elf turned around and approached them, a haughty, condescending look upon his face as he approached the edge of the camp.

"You there, savages!" he spoke up. "You're interfering in official business of the Dominion. You will leave immediately."

"This land isn't yours," Eirik said. "The Dominion have no jurisdiction on Solstheim."

"Rather big words for an ignorant snow-back!" one of the soldiers remarked, sending peels of haughty laughter from elvish lips until the tall one silenced them.

"Your arrogance is unfitting of your place, slave," he said. "All of Tamriel is the rightful property of the Aldmeri Dominion and its Thalmor governors. We go where we please. Now move along or die."

As the elves started to gather around the entrance of the camp, Eirik saw the Skaal man, tied up to the post in the center of the camp. His face was bruised and bloodied and he looked worse off for ware.

"What have you done to him?" Eirik asked.

"What business is it of yours what we do with _our_ property, slave?" the elf retorted.

"I am a free man," Eirik replied. "I'm not a slave to you or anyone, man or mer."

"Foolish, stupid human!" laughed the lead elf. "Your kind has no place in Tamriel. You were born to be slaves, just as we were born to be your masters. Now get lost: this is your last warning!"

"And those are the last words you'll ever speak," Eirik said. "_Hun...Kal Zoor!_"

There was a clap of thunder that sent all the elves scrambling away and crying out in fear. Behind them appeared the large form of Hakon One-Eye, one of the strongest Nord heroes of the Merethic Age. It was he who had fought Alduin at the final battle atop the Throat of the World in the ancient days and it was he who, just a few weeks ago, stood alongside Eirik as he faced Alduin in Sovngarde.

"Kill them in the name of Auri-El!" the lead elf shouted.

"Now!" Eirik shouted to Lydia.

Swords were drawn and Lydia pulled out her shield and a melee erupted in the midst of the camp. Both Eirik and Lydia were outnumbered, but they had Hakon on their side and no weapon could do him harm, for his spirit was save in the Hall of Shor in Sovngarde while he fought again at Eirik's side in Nirn. The elves, while they were numerous and had magic on their side, had one small disadvantage. All of the elves bore short swords in the elvish design or conjured blades glowing with blue light, maybe a light ax, a knife or a bow: Eirik had a great-sword of ancient Skaal design, Lydia bore a shield as well as her sword and Hakon had a battle-ax whose height from the end of the head to the bottom of the pommel was the same as Lydia. Lastly, while Eirik and Lydia wore only Skaal garments and some of their Thalmor enemies wore armor, their armor was light.

While the elves were dismayed by Eirik's shout, he drew out his great-sword and buried it in the chest of the nearest elf soldier. The keen blade pierced through the light, elvish armor and impaled. But without waiting for the others to strike, Eirik heaved the blade out and swung at another. The elf's conjured blade was held up to block the blow, but it only barely saved his life. Another elf came from the left, but Eirik kicked him back: while tall, the high elves were also thin-framed and no match for a powerful Nord. He tumbled backwards, only to have his head taken off by a mighty swing from Hakon's battle-axe.

Lydia, meanwhile, was fighting off two Thalmor soldiers at once. Blow upon blow she blocked with her shield, waiting for an opening. It happened when both of them attacked her at once. Up went the shield, clanging loudly as the swords beat upon it, then she pushed them both back. With a shout, she drove her sword into the face of the elf on the left, then kicked him down to the ground. The second one was coming up from the right, but she whirled around, bashing him in the face with her shield. The elf's helmet fell off his high-foreheaded face, revealing pale golden hair and a mouth filled with blood from her strike. While dazed, Lydia followed up with a swift strike through the elf's throat, which sent a sickening gurgle from the elf's lips before he fell to the ground at her feet.

"We're under attack!" one of the robed Thalmor sorcerers shouted. "To arms!"

At least eleven more soldiers appeared from the ship and the tents, all clad in armor and bearing swords, axes, maces and shields. Just as Eirik was about to shout again, a blast of lightning from one of the sorcerers struck him down to the ground, twitching and convulsing as the bolts arced and coursed across his body through his sword. Lydia, meanwhile, was being surrounded by elves as she fought in vain to keep their swords from striking her. A shield-bash from behind knocked her face-forward into the sand. The one who felled her smiled with delight as he brought up his axe to bring down into her neck when all of the sudden an arrow struck his hand, knocking the axe out of his hand and sending it sailing into the ground at the foot of another. As two others turned to see where the arrow had come from, the other two, minus the elf with the arrow in his hand, tried to finish Lydia off. But at that instant, Hakon tackled them both to the ground in a mighty charge.

While the elves had been busy, two adventurers in Skaal clothing had seen the fighting and decided to see what it was. When they saw the (supposedly) two figures fighting off against outnumbering foes, they joined the fray. The larger of them ran towards a group of five around one writhing on the ground with the smaller-framed one drew an arrow from his bow and sent an eagle-eyed shot into the hand of an elf with an axe in his hand. One of the robed elves in the rear sent bolts of lightning at the first one, but the archer drew back his bow and shot him in the chest.

Eirik felt that death was near until a large, bear-like thing plowed down two elves and an arrow struck the sorcerer sending lightning to shock him. Though sore, he pushed himself back onto his feet as he saw the large, bear-like Nord in Skaal gear pick up an elf with his bare hands and heave him towards the others who had been gathering around him. Another ran towards him but he seized the elf's mace hand, shook the blade out, then struck him with his head, seized the elf's head with both hands and twisted it around so that it was facing from the back. Eirik recognized the large, blond-haired form of Torgrim, who had saved him from the elves.

"Get down!" Torgrim shouted as Eirik was rising to his feet.

Without warning, the large Nord pushed Eirik to the ground and an arrow went whizzing over-head and struck another elf sorcerer, this time in the throat. By now it was a rout. Two of the three lead Thalmor sorcerers and half of the soldiers were now dead.

"Kill the savage!" the last robed sorcerer shouted.

Eirik, now pushing Torgrim off of himself as he rose up, saw a soldier running towards the captured Skaal. He heaved his sword at him, hacking off both legs and sending the elf onto the ground, screaming in pain from the loss of both legs. Behind him, the two who had run towards the archer were now fighting him off in a melee as the archer pulled out a short-sword to battle them. The two that Hakon had tackled were now dead and Torgrim had picked up a rock and smashed it into the head of another elf: the loud crunch of bones indicated that the elf's high-domed skull had been bashed in. Eirik, meanwhile, had walked over to the legless Thalmor, who was crawling towards the bound Skaal on his hands. Picking up his sword from where it had fallen on the ground, he drove it directly down into the elf's back, nailing him into the ground then twisting the blade once it struck earth. Looking back, he saw the archer with his sword in the chest of one elf, then draw it out and send it across the chest of the other. The first elf fell backwards while the other staggered for a while as the archer slashed him again: when he finally fell, his hands were held to his chest, where bloody entrails were seeping out of the hole carved into his stomach.

"To me, you fools, to me!" the last elf sorcerer ordered.

The three remaining elf soldiers crowded around their leader, but Lydia led the charge into them, attacking one with a shield. But the elf bashed her with his shield and sent her sword flying out of reach. He kicked her down and came upon her with glee, eager for the kill at hand. Lydia, meanwhile, saw the forsaken mace of one of the elves lying on the ground, picked it up and struck the oncoming elf in the head with it. Staggered for a time, he could not see her as she rose to her feet and rained down upon his head with the mace, knocking his helmet off and revealing a golden face that was bruised and covered in so much blood, there was little semblance of "elvish beauty" left in it. She continued to strike until at last there was a crack and the elf twitched, then fell lifeless to the ground.

Eirik ran towards the last three with a shout, exchanging blows with one elf with the other, dismayed by Eirik's roar, started running for his life. An arrow felled him from behind as Eirik bashed the elf in the face with the pommel of his sword, drew back and followed up with a wide sweep that parted the head from the elf's neck, sending it back until it smacked the lead elf in the face. The elf started to run but Torgrim seized him by the throat and pushed him up against the wall of the small shack. Eirik held his blooded sword at the neck of the elf while Lydia ran for her sword and the archer, revealed now to be none other than Crixus, joined Eirik with his sword at the elf's throat.

"Ancarion, I presume?" Crixus asked.

"What brings you here, Servius?" the elf Ancarion asked. "You're supposed to be in Solitude, kissing Elenwen's arse and licking her boots like a good cur!"

"Hit him," Crixus said. Torgrim obliged with a swift strike to the elf's face. "I don't work for you, elf. I never have."

"You foolish, stupid man!" Ancarion laughed. "Your human Empire is our slave, doing our bidding. It doesn't matter if you killed the Emperor, we still own you!"

Torgrim struck Ancarion again. "Shut your lying mouth or else I'll rip your tongue out of your throat and bash in all your teeth!"

"Not yet," Crixus stated. "We need information out of him." He turned to Eirik. "Well? You've got your man, release him. There's nothing to see here."

"I have a few questions for this bastard myself," Eirik added.

"He's _my_ prisoner," Crixus retorted. "You can have him when I'm done with him."

"Come on, my thane," Lydia spoke up. "Let's see to 'our' man, as he says."

Eirik turned to the post, where the Skaal was still held captive. Eirik began untying the ropes around the Norse's hands.

"I remember you," the large man said. "You saved us from the dark magic of Miraak. All-Maker be praised that you've come to rescue me. I am Baldor Iron-Shaper. I see that you've taken care of these elves."

"What were they after?" Eirik asked.

"They wanted to know the secrets of forging stalhrim," said Baldor. "That one..." he nodded towards Ancarion. "...said he had a map of a hidden source of it somewhere on the island. They kidnapped me from my home and tied me up to this post. They tried to make me talk, but I never told them anything."

"What's stalhrim?" Lydia asked.

"Enchanted ice," said Baldor. "Harder than iron and cold as death. It is said that when Nords first came to the lower lands from Atmora, they brought the secret of enchanted ice with them. They used it to seal the tombs of the dead from tampering by sorcerers and to forge powerful weapons and armor. Only the Skaal know how to work stalhrim."

Eirik patted Baldor on the shoulder, then turned to where Torgrim and Crixus held Ancarion. He placed the blade of his sword back at the throat of the elf.

"Why are you here?" Eirik asked.

"There's no place in all of Tamriel," Ancarion said. "That is beyond the influence of the Dominion."

"Why are you after the Skaal's secrets?" Eirik asked. "Why do you elves want to know how to work stalhrim?"

The elf spit at Eirik. "You deserve much worse for your insolence, slave, as well as your stupidity! For what other reason would we want to harness an ancient substance known to make powerful weapons and armor?"

"Just what are you planning out here?" Crixus asked.

"Foolish slaves," Ancarion laughed. "You will never know until it is too late!"

Crixus gestured with his thumb over his shoulder and Torgrim nodded in affirmation. The large Nord seized Ancarion, dragged him over to the dock and shoved his head into the icy cold waters of the sea. Eirik, Lydia and Baldor made their way towards where he was held, but Crixus turned about and drew his sword on Eirik.

"This is Imperial business, Nord," he said threateningly. Eirik said nothing as Crixus strode back and gestured for Torgrim to bring the elf back up. Torgrim heaved Ancarion back onto the dock, coughing and sputtering and shivering in the cold.

"Enjoy your bath, Ancarion?" Crixus asked.

"I kn-now everything ab-b-b-bout you, Colovian s-s-scum!" Ancarion shivered. "Your f-f-father was a womanizer and your m-mother was a whore s-so weak that sh-she didn't feel that living...for your brother and you...was worth the ef-f-fort!"

If Eirik thought he had seen Crixus angry before, he was sorely mistaken. With a loud expletive, he dove into kicking Ancarion in the stomach over and over and over, shouting and cursing with each blow. Once he was finished, he dragged him back to the edge of the dock and shoved his head down under, holding it under the water.

"That's enough!" Eirik shouted.

"I'll decide when he's had enough!" Crixus replied. After a moment more, he dragged Ancarion out of the water, coughing and sputtering.

"You..." he breathed. "Will never see...your brother again!"

"Tell me why you bastards need their enchanted ice!" Crixus seethed angrily.

"Why else does an army need weapons?" Ancarion sneered. "You tell me that...concubine."

Once again Crixus shoved Ancarion's head into the waves. He held the elf's head under for a good long while, ignoring protests from Eirik and Lydia that he was going too far. Suddenly Ancarion's body began to convulse and massive amounts of bubbles began to break across the surface, torn up already by the thrashing of the elf's hands.

"That's enough, Crixus," Torgrim spoke up.

"This doesn't concern you," Crixus replied.

"He won't be able to answer your questions if he's dead!" said Torgrim.

Crixus did not reply but continued to keep Ancarion's head below the waves. Eirik tried to pull Crixus back, but he punched him in the face then held both hands over the elf's head. Both Lydia and Torgrim now seized him from behind and dragged him back onto the dock, but at that moment, the body of Ancarion slumped on the edge of the wharf. Eirik walked over to Ancarion's body and pulled it back onto the dock. Turning it over, he saw the face was a pale shade of yellow, but he was looking for something _on_ his person and in his robes. He mulled about until he drew out something made of old leather and bound in string. This he stowed away into his Skaal robes, then turned to the others. He nodded at both Lydia and Torgrim, but held Crixus under his stern gaze for a long while.

"We're going back," he said at last.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Finally got a new chapter update, despite all the bad shit that's been happening to me. Yay for you!)<strong>

**(While I have certainly been dropping hints about Crixus' past in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and this story, I don't want to throw it all out there just yet. That will appear in the next story, "The Dragon of the South" [which I finally figured out what it is! Here's a hint: _Redguard_].)  
><strong>


	15. Bloodmoon

**(AN: While this chapter might lead some to believe that we're only brushing over the events of Bloodmoon [or at least the Fourth Era version of Bloodmoon], but, as the lore itself has spoken, the Great Hunt of the Bloodmoon is not confined only to Solstheim, that is just where it happened in _Morrowind_.)**

**(We've got quite a bit of ground to cover in this story, and I don't mean that figuratively. I also want to make two things clear before we continue. I have walked down a mountain in the gathering gloom [my mom and dad did so in the dark later on] and it is NOT easy to do, nor would it be a picnic going _up_ in the dark, which is why the direction choice is made. The second thing to clear up is that "frozen snow" might sound redundant, but snow can freeze. I felt frozen snow when I was at Tahoe after Christmas last year and it's no picnic either.)**

**(Also, something I want to ask my reviewers [all one of you, lol]: are you not tired of the "hero needs personal reason to fight the villain" cliche? I mean, as a growing writer, I realize how much of an impact a character's death can have on another character, but just to kill them off so that the hero will have a personal reason to fight the bad guy feels way too over-done. I think Peter Jackson took it too far with his version of the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy where Aragorn pulls a dick move and refuses to help Gondor/humans in the war against Sauron by claiming his birthright because he's afraid that he'll end up like Isildur. And he continues to act this way until Sauron's power threatens Arwen's life [something made up by Peter Jackson just to get Aragorn to stop being a selfish dick]. And even almighty Katniss Ever-bore [i tried watching _Hunger Games_ as well as reading the book, was not interested or drawn to it in any way] is only involved because the Capitol tried to have her little sister die in the Hunger Games. I mean, I know that the 21st century's x-generation loathes morally good characters and calls them plain and boring [poor Jon Snow], but do _all_ of our heroes have to have the morally gray attitude of a Ron Perlman/Jason Statham douche-bag anti-hero character, where they don't get involved in anything until it's personally affecting them? Does nobody actually care about things other than themselves and do things altruistically or do we only do things to be noticed?)**

* * *

><p><strong>Bloodmoon<strong>

The nights of Solstheim were even darker than in Skyrim for those five now making their way eastward, towards the Skaal village. Rather than travel north, back through the mountains, they chose to go south, around the base of the mountain, and around to the Skaal village from the south-west. For them, however, this meant that they would have to be going through the dreaded ash-lands. Eirik felt unsafe going this far out of their way, but Crixus, who took over the direction of their group as soon as they left the Thalmor camp, said that it would be safer than going through the mountains.

"Those cliffs won't be easy to climb in the dark," he said. "Damn near impossible, especially with the frozen snow. Also, if anyone's out there watching the ash-lands at this hour, they won't see anything other than five Skaal on their way back to their village."

The clouds of ash kept the light of the moons obscured for much of the night, making it even darker and gloomier than usual. They had little wood for fire-making and neither Eirik nor Lydia had any wood for torches. Luckily, Crixus knew a candlelight spell which he had used in their travels through Darklight Pass in the Wrothgarian Mountains during the vampire crisis towards the end of last year. Therefore they had a measure of light to guide them through the ash-fields on their way south and east around the base girth of the mountain.

Their road was not an easy one. Once the snows vanished, they found themselves waist deep in ash with their feet not even touching the true ground beneath it. The ash clung to their clothes, still damp from the snows of the northern side of the island, and ever and anon part of the ash-laden hill-side would give way under their weight, causing them to fall and slide down quite a ways and had to be helped back up onto the path. Thus they made their slow path through the darkening ash-fields, hearing nothing but the stillness of the night, the distant howl of the sea-winds and the slush of their feet on the ashen ground. In the deep and darkness of the night, without a sound or sight other than the ominous glow of the candlelight in Crixus' hand and no warmth, a sheen of cold solitude fell upon them one by one.

"Do you feel the stillness of the night?" Baldor whispered, his voice falling dead out of his lips upon the dead land around them. "It chills one to the bone. Ah, the All-Maker is testing us indeed. Would that I were back at my forge with the heat of the fire upon my hands and face."

"I agree," Lydia added. "If this is anything like how the ash-lands are, I think I'll take back what I said about wanting to settle down here."

"It's only this way in the southern part of the island," Eirik added.

"Pray tell, my thane," Lydia spoke up. "Since I doubt we'll be visiting Raven Rock any time soon, can you tell me a little about it?"

"A Dunmer town swimming in ash," Eirik stated. "Everywhere you go, red eyes follow you with suspicion, fear and mistrust. The people talk very little and what little they do say is always short and ill-tempered."

"You know," Crixus spoke back. "Like how you Nords treat the Dunmer in Windhelm."

"Again with this?" Eirik asked.

"Yes, again with this," Crixus repeated. "And again and again until you elf-haters are put in your place, Ulfric's head is hung from a spike on the gate of the Imperial City, the Empire is victorious and your people let the elves live among you. To say nothing about the Argonians and Khajiit."

"Why do we have to put up with the Dunmer?" Eirik asked.

"Because you Nords promised to let them live in Skyrim autonomously," Crixus retorted. "I know honor doesn't mean much to you people - just look at Talos and Ulfric, for that matter - but if you make that big a promise, it should be kept."

"Do you ever shut up?" Lydia asked.

"You can't silence me, slave!" Crixus retorted. "I'm a citizen of the Empire and I'll talk if I want!"

"We're far away from your Empire, friend," Baldor added.

"Shut up, savage," Crixus snapped.

"A fine fellow you are, Crixus," Eirik spoke up. "Say one thing out of your mouth one minute and then the exact opposite the very next moment."

"You know nothing, milk-drinker," Torgrim interjected.

"And you blindly follow this one wherever he goes," Eirik said. "Your duty to a dying empire has blinded you to the ignorance of this man who has no true allegiance to anyone but himself."

"He is a faithful servant of the Empire," Torgrim said. "Unlike _you_."

"He killed the Emperor!" Eirik shouted. "Do you see how deep his loyalty is?"

"You really do know nothing," Crixus chuckled.

"You actually believe those elvish lies?" Torgrim added with a mocking chuckle.

"He told me so himself!" Eirik exclaimed exasperatedly, gesturing to Crixus.

"No idea what he's talking about," Crixus laughed. "You haven't been hitting the skooma, have you?"

"You fucking admitted it to me yourself!" Eirik shouted, anger rising up within him.

"I honestly have no idea what you're babbling about," Crixus laughed. "And you really need to watch your language. You swear even more than Shaddar's crewmen on the Red Dog."

"_I_ swear?" Eirik asked incredulously.

"Yes, you do, far too much," Crixus stated. "Just like you Nords."

Suddenly they heard in the distance the howl of a wolf. All of them halted their bickering and looked about at the darkness. While none of them, save for Baldor, were unfamiliar with the cries of the wolf, none of them had heard this sound splitting the air of the island.

"Wolves!" Baldor exclaimed. "There haven't been wolves on Solstheim for at least a hundred winters. My grand-father told me stories that his grand-father told him about the Red Year, when the fire-mountain in the south erupted. He said the wolves came into the northern side of the island, but slowly began to thin in numbers as the Skaal culled them to protect the herds of game. We never killed many of them, but they slowly began to die off until they were no more. But how have they returned?"

"These are no wolves," Eirik said.

Crixus chuckled. "Oh, please. Are you still going on about that stupid superstition about the moon turning to blood?"

"It's no superstition!" Baldor stated. "I saw the horker bodies lying on the shores. These howls mean that wolves have come back to Solstheim."

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "And I saw fire on the lake, just like it said."

"That doesn't mean anything," Crixus retorted. "Any mage with even a superficial understanding of destruction magic could have conjured flames from the surface of that lake. It doesn't mean any prophecy is coming to pass."

"Has the moon turned to blood?" Baldor asked. "The skies were overcast and now it is too dark to make out anything."

"Just a moment here," Eirik said, looking up at the skies.

"Wait, don't do that!" Lydia interjected. "The wolves will hear it and come for us!"

"They're not wolves," Eirik stated. "They're werewolves, and they know me."

"Beast-kin," Torgrim sneered. "At least it's the venerable wolf."

"_Lok...Vah Koor!_" Eirik shouted.

There was a rumble of thunder and then a rush of wind and a bleak sky with scant scars appeared. The blackness of night was replaced by an eerie glow of red light that fell upon everything that it touched. Near the edge of the horizon was the large, reddish-blue sphere of Masser, the largest of Nirn's two moons. Eirik knew that, among other things, it was said that Shor placed part of himself in the sky as a constant reminder to the race of man of their duty: blood red that it was to fight and die that they might be gathered to him in Sovngarde. Due to its dull color, it never shone bright enough to give a reddish hue to the night under stars, as it was constantly outshined by the smaller moon Secunda.

But then they looked directly overhead. And there, hanging in the sky just a few short degrees from its zenith, giving off a ghastly halo of crimson light, was Secunda, shining blood red like a hand freshly dipped in the blood of the slain.

"The Bloodmoon," Baldor murmured.

"So what?" Crixus asked. "This isn't anything special. So Secunda turned red. Stranger things have happened, it doesn't mean it's a prophecy. Have you heard the legends about the Warp in the West?"

"There's the proof, you idiot!" Lydia exclaimed. "The wolf-howls, the fire on Lake Fjalding, the dead horkers and now the little moon turning to blood?"

"I accept that these things happened," Crixus said. "I don't have to believe they are what you and Eirik say they are."

"Well, isn't that just fine, then?" Eirik retorted. "'I don't have to believe that these are the signs of the Bloodmoon.' Pretty much refuse to believe anything your eyes see because it doesn't fit with your narrow-minded thoughts."

"Narrow-minded?" Crixus laughed. "You're calling _me_ narrow-minded?"

"What will you say when you die and you stand before the Nine?" Eirik asked. "'I admit that you exist but I don't have to believe what you are?'"

"Why not?" Crixus asked. "If they punish me just for not believing in them, they don't deserve _my_ worship!"

"But they are our masters!" Torgrim said. "They gave themselves to make our world, should we not honor them?"

"Shut up, Torgrim," Crixus replied. "You can't argue intelligibly with this milk-drinker. Leave him to me."

"As you say," Torgrim demurred, with a tone of resentment in his voice. "But I feel that the huscarl was right. Shouting like that will alert the wolves."

"They're not wolves!" Eirik shouted.

Suddenly there was a loud roar and their blood froze in their veins. Eirik, Torgrim and Lydia drew their weapons while Crixus continued leading the way. Despite the glow of the moon, it was still dark and the candlelight gave them more than enough light to see their way back to the snow-fields of the north. For a while they heard nothing but the howl of wolves in the distance and no more roars, but then there was another sound heard that gave them even more cause to fear: the rumble of distant thunder.

"That doesn't sound good," Lydia stated.

"It isn't, outsider," Baldor said. "The rains freeze to the bone and set the ash down in the south, but up north we're liable to find a blizzard keeping us from the village. Come, let's pick up the pace!"

They continued running as fast as they could through the ash fields, which slowly began to become shallower and shallower. Soon the ash died all together and dark, frozen ground was heard crunching beneath their feet. The ground soon gave way to snow as they found themselves now in the eaves of the snow-fields.

But at that instant, a large dark shape leaped out of the snow and tackled Torgrim down into the snow, sending him rolling down the hill they had been trying to encircle. Crixus snuffed out the candlelight spell, conjured up a mage-light spell and threw it forward in the direction they had been going, drew out his short sword and turned to the others.

"Follow the light," he said. "I'll catch you up later."

"Wait!" Eirik called.

But it was too late. Crixus was making his way down the slope to where, in the dim light of the blood-moon, two shapes could be seen wrestling. One was very large and very dark, seeming almost like a great bear. But then all three figures were lost in the darkness and Eirik could see little of them. Only the sounds of Torgrim and a loud thing of bear-kin roaring gave indication that any of them were still alive.

Suddenly a dark shape appeared before them, blotting out the shimmer of the will-o-the-wisp mage-light ball floating on the crest of the snowy hill just a few feet beyond. Eirik immediately reached for his sword but before he could say anything, Lydia charged forward, sword in hand and shield on her arm. Eirik drew out his great-sword and made his way towards the creature when suddenly Lydia went flying back, crashing onto him and sending them both falling backwards into the snow. The snow shook with the heavy foot-falls of the bear-like monster, and Eirik smelt its foul breath, ripe with rotten flesh. In a moment the bear would be upon them, mauling them with its large paws which struck harder, from what Eirik had seen, than any true bear.

At that moment, another shape appeared and tackled the bear down to the snow. The new thing was roughly as large as the bear-thing though it moved twice as fast, tearing and biting at the bear's flesh while easily leaping aside from the huge swings of the bear paws. Another figure appeared and the two began tearing the bear apart between them. A growl was heard and suddenly there was a blight flash of light. From below the hill, Crixus and Torgrim came walking up to where Eirik and Lydia were crawling out of the snow. Crixus held aloft a ball of candlelight in his left hand with his short sword in his right and Torgrim seemed to be hobbling. Nearby they saw a large thing of man-height but much bigger with the upper body, including head and paws, of a large bear. It was dead, mauled open with the snow painted red with its blood. The other one was nowhere to be seen but around them, lurking just out of the glow of the candlelight spell, were three large creatures of wolf shape, which seemed to be hemming them like a dog herding together the sheep. Eirik kept his hands on his sword, gazing individually at each of the wolves in turn. In the dark they seemed to be just large black shapes, but now, in the glow of Crixus' candlelight spell, he could see that only two of them were blackish of fur. Directly in front of him was a large wolf with reddish fur and pale blue eyes looking back at him.

"It's alright," Eirik said to the others. "They won't harm us."

For a moment the wolves stood their ground, not making a move or showing that they would permit them to pass. For a while there was nothing but silence, uneasy silence and the panting of the three wolves around them. At last there was a loud roar and a howl in the distance and the wolves departed. For a moment they halted, though Eirik did not press the matter of the Bloodmoon prophecy with Crixus. He chose to remain obstinately ignorant to the truth, despite the irrefutable proof of his eyes, and to press the matter would end in only another pointless argument.

"Damn beast-folk!" Torgrim grumbled. "That thing swung like a saber-cat!"

"Too much for you?" Eirik asked. "I once wrestled a saber-cat and won."

"A likely story," Torgrim laughed. "Tell me, did you stow a poisoned knife into your belt before wrestling said beast? Maybe you managed to catch the poor beast with a choke-hold so that it wouldn't be too difficult for you, isn't that right?"

"We need to keep going," Crixus said. "Just before it got dark, I saw some storm clouds on the horizon. We don't want to get caught between a blizzard and these beasts."

They decided to carry on, hoping to reach the village before the storm broke upon them. They pushed forth as best they could in the dark, though Eirik realized that Torgrim was lagging behind, almost as though he had been wounded. He said nothing and kept his course. They made good time, passing over the bridge and seeing the gleam of the candlelight spell on the ice of lake Fjalding on the right. They now found themselves crawling up the hill to the glade where the Skaal village was kept when suddenly an arrow came whistling down upon them. There was a loud cry and the candlelight spell vanished. Looking back, he saw in the glow of the moons Torgrim carrying a body that had fallen backwards into his arms. He took a brief moment to count those standing with his eyes: he saw four bodies. Someone had been shot.

"Agh, damn! By Namira's rotten..." Crixus' voice shouted.

"What was that about not cursing?" Eirik asked.

"How about I shove that long-sword up your arse?" Crixus groaned. "Some shit-brained savage shot me in the shoulder!"

"Friends!" Baldor cried out up ahead, hoping that they would hear them.

"Good thinking," Crixus groaned. "Let them know _after_ they shot at us!"

"Carry him," Eirik said to Torgrim. "We're almost there and we can't afford delays."

"Oh, bullshit!" Crixus shouted. "I had worse at the Siege of Bravil in the war. Just get me some fire and strong drink and I'll pull myself back together."

Up ahead a light appeared and three Skaal appeared carrying torches. One of them, Eirik saw, was dressed in the silvery Nordic carved armor which Mjoll had worn since it had been gifted to them by Crixus so many months ago. It still amazed Eirik how Crixus could be at once a friend and at the same time a massive pain in the ass. As the figures approached, Eirik saw that the armored one was Frea.

"By the All-Maker!" Frea exclaimed. "I did not mean for this to happen! As the night fell, the bears and the wolves began attacking. We've had to barricade the village and I suppose someone mistook you for a bear, Skaal-friend."

"Yeah, great to know that," Crixus groaned.

"Dragonborn, your friends from the ship on the coast," Frea said to Eirik. "Some of them came into the village looking for you two. They're in the great hall. You should speak to them immediately. I will see to the other one."

Frea ordered the others to carry Crixus back to her hut while Eirik and Lydia made their way to the great hall. True to Frea's words, as they entered the Skaal village, they saw that it was mostly deserted, with the doors and windows barred and lights extinguished. All those about had spears, axes and bows in hand, ready to defend themselves against the invasion from the darkening woods. Immediately Eirik passed into the great hall, where half a dozen spears met him from those Skaal defending the hall. When they saw that he was no beast, they lowered their weapons. Behind them Eirik saw Rayya, Gorak and Shaddar the Old standing with backs to the fire-pit and spears in hand.

"There you are!" Shaddar greeted. "Where have you been? They said you had gone away early this morning but had not come back. Where is Crixus?"

"He was wounded," Eirik said. "Frea took him to her hut to treat the wound."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait," Shaddar said. "We cannot stay here any longer."

"Why?" Lydia asked. "What's wrong?"

"A storm is coming," Shaddar said. "My crew spotted it on the horizon this morning. They guess that it will reach the island within a day." He turned to Eirik. "Have you and Crixus concluded your business on the island?"

"Aye, we have," Eirik said.

"Then we must leave now," Shaddar said. "I'll go and find Crixus."

"Wait!" Gorak the orc spoke up. "We are not leaving without Eld!"

"Where is she?" Eirik asked.

"She went hunting in the afternoon," Rayya answered. "We haven't seen her yet."

"There's no time!" Shaddar shouted as he ran past the Skaal guarding the door, with surprising agility for an older man, and passed out into the cold.

"Rayya," Eirik turned to the young Redguard. "Where are our things? Our armor, our clothes."

"I took them back to the ship," she replied. "No sense in leaving them around since we're leaving soon."

"You're a good woman, Rayya," Eirik said with a smile.

"Hey!" Lydia spoke up. "What about me?"

"So are you," Eirik added. "But she doesn't get in everyone's way."

"I don't get in everyone's w-oh!" Lydia exclaimed as Torgrim pushed her aside as he strode into the hall.

"What the hell is going on here?" he bellowed. "I just saw Shaddar run into the shaman's hut, then come out, dragging Crixus out between his shoulders and Frea's."

"We're leaving," Eirik said. "We've got to reach the boats soon."

"Not without Eld!" Gorak shouted.

At this there was a shout and suddenly, in the light of the torches of those few Skaal still in the village grounds, there appeared the images of the large bear-men. While against a werewolf, such as Eirik guessed from seeing the eyes of the Huntress in the red wolf, they were no match, against a mere man or mer the were-bears of Solstheim could cleave deep wounds with their claws if they were lucky to survive the encounter. At least three had entered the town and two had attacked the Skaal defenders. The last one was making its way towards the great hall when a large figure suddenly crashed through the trees and seized the were-bear from behind, pinning its neck with a mighty staff. After a moment or two of struggle, the giant had strangled the were-bear, which collapsed to the ground ineffectively. The second bear turned towards the giant but a swift throw of the spear skewered the bear like a wild boar.

"Eld!" Gorak roared proudly. "Now we can make our way down to the ships! Eld, we're leaving! Come!"

"Wait, what about Crixus?" Eirik asked.

"Fuck him!" Lydia retorted. "He's been nothing but trouble ever since he showed up uninvited on the doorstep of Breezehome!"

"There he is!" Torgrim shouted.

Eirik turned and saw Frea and Shaddar carrying Crixus between their shoulders down the hill towards the Red Dog. Frea held a torch aloft in her hand while Shaddar guided the way. Behind them came Rayya and Gorak with Eld running up with a spear in hand, each footstep shaking the ground. Torgrim followed, leaving now Eirik and Lydia to stand against the last of the three were-bears that had attacked the village. Baldor was nowhere insight: hopefully he had run to his house once they arrived in the village. But as they were turning to leave, the bear charged at them on all fours, roaring its challenge.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Eirik shouted.

The Thu'um caught the bear head-on, throwing him against a tree and giving them once more time enough to escape back down to the ship. Eirik and Lydia turned and then practically stumbled their way down the snowy slope back to the coast. By the time they had arrived, Gorak and Shaddar had placed Crixus in a boat which Eld pushed out to sea while Rayya and Torgrim climbed into the next boat with the giantess. As Eirik and Lydia approached their boat, Frea met them.

"Can you make it back to the village?" Eirik asked.

"If it is the will of the All-Maker," she replied. She sighed. "I had always wanted to be chief, and now that I am chief in all but name, I begrudge this fate. Woe that the Bloodmoon prophecy should come true in my time."

"Don't be," Eirik said, shaking his head. "Your people still live, you should do something. Fight back. If this is a test of the All-Maker, rise to the challenge and protect your people. He who curses the dark but won't light a torch deserves to remain in the night forever: for him the darkness is all within."

"Your words fill me with purpose, Dragonborn," Frea said. "And hope for my people. We will fight to protect ourselves, to show the All-Maker that we can survive. Though, as we are few, this comes as a great blow for us. I would be most appreciative if you stayed. There is still so much..."

"You can do that on your own," Eirik said. "Your people lived before my father was born, and, seeing how you shrugged off the threat of your world being devoured by the dragons, your people will continue to live long after my bones have become one with the earth."

"Yes, you are right," Frea nodded. "I know now why my father would not have me be the chieftain of the Skaal." She sighed. "But even if I am not now ready, I must become ready soon. If Fanari does not recover, I will become the chieftain of the Skaal."

"And may the Skaal prosper under you, if that happens," Eirik said with a smile. "Now, please, I must go. If you have anything else to share, send me another letter."

"I cannot write," Frea said. "The Skaal have no need to write."

"Then if Tharstan survives this winter," Eirik said. "Have him write a letter to me with your words. And now I must go: may the All-Maker be with you, Frea Stornsdottir, and with your people."

"Wait! One more thing before you go," Frea spoke.

"Hmm?"

"Thank your friend Crixus for all that he has done for the Skaal," Frea said. She then smiled and looked at Eirik with admiration. "The All-Maker has blessed the Skaal with your presence. May he...and your foreign gods...keep you safe on all your travels."

Eirik nodded and smiled in return, then made his way to the last boat where Lydia awaited him. He pushed the boat off and, after a swift jog through freezing cold water, leaped into the boat and took an oar as he and Lydia rowed out to the Red Dog awaiting them. His mind was wrapped around Frea's last words to him. Not only had she strangely blessed him by _both_ the All-Maker and presumably the Nine as well, but she asked specifically that he thank Crixus for 'all that he has done for the Skaal.' What could Crixus have possibly done for the Skaal? He held them in derision for refusing to accept Imperial culture and customs that, accordingly, would ensure their survival in the harsh land of Solstheim, he hated that they were Nords little different, in his mind, to the people of Skyrim and he was not exactly one to do any task or give any boon for free. What had Crixus done?

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Finally got this chapter out [favorite phrase of mine for these stories, along with 'my brother and i...', lol]. I've also got a few things to go on for the next chapters, which will start getting very interesting indeed. Lots of nice imagery in this chapter, especially the halo around the moon and frozen ground crunching under foot and the grim yet beautiful quiet of snow. Also, despite the "lore", wolves hunt bears, not the other way around, which is why I put that bit in about the Red Year and the Skaal having to do with the thinning of wolveswerewolves on Solstheim. I also was a bit uneasy about the parting with Frea, but I didn't know any other way of how to end this chapter. What do you think?)**

**(I also would like to say, based on some of the dialogue in this story, that while I loathe what Steven Moffat has done to _Doctor Who_, there are some parts of Russell T. Davies' _Doctor Who_ which made me cringe. Number one: "The Stolen Earth" with its cameo by the second worst person on the planet [pretty much the Crixus of the militant atheist movement. You lot should know and love this 'dick' - lol, get it?]. Number two: bestiality acceptance [which Gregory Maguire of _Wicked_ also pulled in _Out of Oz_, which leads me to wonder, since RTD and Maguire have something in common and its not that they're men]. And number three: "The Satan Pit." In a typical "i don't believe in fairies" move that we saw strangely reversed in "Midnight", the Doctor flat-out refuses to believe anything that happens on this planet hovering over a black hole. Man, your open-minded, progressive anti-hero is strangely closed minded [or maybe not so strangely]. And then when he goes to the bottom of the "bottomless pit" and comes face to face with the Devil itself, what does he say? "I accept that you exist but I don't have to believe what you are." COP-OUT! That pretty much gives our sexist, genocidal bullying Timelord [at least how he's depicted in the Moffat era so far] leave to pretty much find Heaven, see God face to face and go "i don't have to believe You are who You say You are, nah nah nah nah nah!" I needed to address that great annoyance, so I worked that kind of obstinate ignorance [John Knox is awesome!] into the dialogue between Eirik and Crixus and the latter's refusal to believe that the Bloodmoon prophecy is real.)**


	16. Imprisoned

**(AN: Okay, my brother [no, we're not talking about him, but somebody else] follows a blog on tumblr which is all about the lore of pre-_Skyrim_ Elder Scrolls games, mostly for the fun of having this blogger do what everyone else seems to do and point out where _Skyrim_ fails in comparison to Kirkbride's _Morrowind_ or fat-faced _Oblivion_. And this blogger mentioned the C-0-D-A [it's not coda, it's c-zero-d-a] and the stuff they said about it was just all kinds of back-talk just to rationalize a bunch of exclusivist, pro-_Morrowind_ bs. Although, there were some points of this blogger's post which I found valid. Number one, his assertion that _Arena_ and _Dag__gerfall_ were plain, basic, formulaic _Dungeons and Dragons_/_Lord of the Rings_-influenced fantasy RPG, yes, I can see that. Of course that is probably why people loved _Morrowind_, because it based a fantasy world solely on Eastern/non-Norse/non-Tolkien traditions. Unfortunately, _Morrowind_ is also very pro-elvish to the exclusion of all other races and the blogger said that _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ were the humans [the tin-can knights of Cyrodiil and the vikings of Skyrim - my words only] trying to take center-stage from the elves. In that light, why is it seen in _Skyrim_ that the Nords' mistrust of the Dunmer as a bad thing since the Dunmer are racist, slavers and, in the game, they actually _are_ supporting the Empire clandestinely?)**

**(I say this because of what happens in this chapter. If this story were _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and people actually reviewed it as much as they did that story, the reviews of this chapter would probably feature something along the lines of "i liked your story up until now. your portrayal of the Dunmer was out of character and just used to justify the Nord's racism. i'm done reading your story" or "your story has too much racism" or whatever. It is actually said in the lore, as well as by Kirkbride, the god of _Morrowind_ [because Vivec is a self-insert, imo] and by his supporters, that the elves are exclusivist, racists, slavers, they don't even like their own people if they're not part of House Redoran or Telvanni or whatever [Kirkbride referred to Talos as a "virus", because humans becoming gods is just so evil and blasphemous to elves that he has to be demonized into a "virus" in order to make all the elves feel better about their bigotry], so what I'm doing is just, right and canonical.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Imprisoned<strong>

By the time that morning came, the thirty-first day of Morning Star, a cloudly Loredas in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, the Red Dog was well under way to leave the shore of Solstheim. Unfortunately, there was a bit of a problem. The initial decision had been to sail, as they had done before, around the southern end of the island and then go north-west until they reached Dawnstar or Solitude in Skyrim. However, more than once had there been reports of storm-clouds coming in from the north. A storm was swiftly brewing and making its way towards the mainland, with strong winds pushing southwards towards Vvardenfell. Had they intended to go around the southern end, these winds would have been in their favor, but these winds also blew the ash-cloud from the Red Mountain back towards Vvardenfell and the mainland of Morrowind.

"That is no longer an option for us," Shaddar had told them all at council in the captain's cabin on board the Red Dog. Eirik and Crixus were here, along with Rayya and Lydia. The huscarls stood against the wall while Eirik and Crixus bent over a map of Morrowind on Shaddar's desk, to which he pointed with a knife. Crixus seemed to be doing well for himself, despite having been recently shot in the shoulder: a white cloth wrapped around his shoulder where the arrow had hit stood out from his black garb.

"If we went south," the old Redguard continued. "We're liable to be spotted by someone in Raven Rock, or possibly Blacklight. We're here illegally, after all."

"Since when has that ever stopped you, old friend?" Crixus asked.

"I do not relish the idea," Shaddar stated. "Of facing the wrath of House Redoran if we're spotted. So.." He pointed to the northern end of Solstheim. "...our journey will take us around the northern end of Solstheim, out of the eyes of those in the south and then back into friendly waters in Skyrim."

"This isn't a good idea," Eirik said.

"Please," Crixus retorted, turning to Eirik. "Share with us your opinion, born from your extensive knowledge of sailing."

"If there is a storm coming out of the north," Eirik said. "Then sailing around the northern side of the island will be the most difficult task to perform. The wind will be against us and we will not likely be able to reach the other side before the day is out. And then if we are caught in the storm..."

"We won't be caught in the storm," Shaddar said firmly. "The Red Dog is no mere Nordic drekkar. She is as swift as the wind and will not suffer her crew to be drowned."

"I think you should trust him," Crixus said. "He's been sailing since before your Ulfric was born, and that's saying a lot."

"I'm still uneasy about this plan," Eirik sighed.

"Don't worry your tiny mind about it," Crixus replied. "Shaddar knows what he is doing. Just get you back to your quarters and wait for our return to Skyrim."

"Where in Skyrim?" Eirik asked. "Will we be putting in at Dawnstar again? Maybe you will decide on Solitude at the last minute."

"And why would I do that?" Crixus asked. "I'm not the captain of this ship."

"You know why," Eirik retorted.

"I'm not setting you up for a trap!" Crixus shouted. "Didn't we just leave Solstheim? What point would there be in springing a trap if my message was true and my purpose genuine?"

"If you two are going to argue again," Shaddar sighed. "Take it out of my cabin. I have more important things to listen to than to grown men acting like children."

"I'm not acting like a child, he is!" Crixus said, gesturing to Eirik.

"Come," Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "We should leave anyhow. I have something I want to talk about with you."

"I've got nothing to say to you, _Nord_," Crixus retorted.

"It's about your family," Eirik stated.

At this point, all eyes turned towards Crixus. He did not visibly turn towards Eirik or make any indication that he had heard what was said other than breathing menacingly through clenched teeth.

"If you insult my father, mother or brother," he said. "I will kill you in your sleep, and I'll make it look like an accident too. I'm not even joking, I'll do it!"

"I'm not insulting anyone," Eirik replied. "I just have a few questions about them is all."

Crixus looked over at Shaddar, then at Rayya, then walked out of the captain's quarters. Eirik followed him out onto the main deck, down the stairs leading below, then to the end of the hallway where his room and Lydia's was built. Here Crixus halted, leaning against the wall of the cabins with one hand while the other passed over his face which he had turned away from Eirik.

"Well?" Eirik asked, once they were alone.

"How much do you know?" Crixus replied slowly.

"Hardly anything," Eirik answered.

"Good, keep it that way," came the reply.

"I want answers!" Eirik said firmly. "Twice I've heard you bring them up: when we were in Driftshade Refuge and when you were interrogating Ancarion yesterday."

"Fuck Ancarion," Crixus replied. "He knows nothing."

"Listen," Eirik began. "I'm sure Rayya told you everything about my past. It's come up more than once in critical situations, I want to know about yours now. I want to help if I can."

"You can help," said Crixus. "By never speaking about this ever again. My private life is private for a reason, arse-hole." There was silence for a good long time as Eirik looked at Crixus but the latter did not respond. For one moment Crixus turned his head and glared at Eirik from over his shoulder. He said nothing but Eirik felt an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach under that gaze. Without another word, he walked back down the hall, pushing Eirik against the wall with his shoulder and glaring over his shoulder at him as he passed on up the stairs.

* * *

><p>True to Eirik's fears, the journey around the northern end of Solstheim was longer than they had expected. They were moving against the wind and, despite the best efforts to close haul the ship to increase their speed. By noon they had reached the north-eastern corner and by evening they were not even past the bulk of the island's north face. Eirik and Lydia were asleep in their room in the ship's hull, as they had done a hard night's work crossing Solstheim and fighting and flying from were-bears.<p>

After a good many hours of sleep, Eirik slowly roused from slumber to see Lydia lying against him with her head on his shoulder. He said nothing and made no move at all until the ship rocked with a sudden crash almost threw him onto his face. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he found the entire ship heaving and rocking violently back and forth. He poked his head out into the hall and saw water starting to build up on the floor and several crew-men filling buckets with the stuff.

"What's happening?" Eirik asked.

"We're in a storm!" the crew man, a Colovian, replied. "Give us a hand, we're taking on water!"

Eirik helped them as best he could, but they couldn't tell him if there was a leak or where it was. Eirik guessed that most of the water was washed into the lower decks from above. After he could bail no more, Eirik took rest for himself and returned to their room. Lydia was already awake and getting their gear up off the floor as water was now pouring into the cargo hold. She did not wait long before joining the others in bailing the water out of the hull. On and on this back and forth bailing went as more and more crew from the upper decks started coming down below to keep safe from the storm. Though there was no light of sun, the darkness grew deeper as they passed on into night and soon they had to light candles in their rooms. Never too many for the rocking of the ship made even a little fire a great risk.

How many bleak, empty and wet days like this passed on the Red Dog, Eirik had long since lost count. All he knew now was the endless pounding of waves upon the hull of the ship and cold, wet, sleepless nights in the cargo hold. There was no longer any meaningful attempt at keeping dry made by any on board the ship, as they ended up amounting to absolutely nothing but frustration.

* * *

><p>One morning Eirik awoke to find that the ship was not shaking or tossing. There was a gentle creak of the boards but no sign of the storm. Eirik rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, hoping that they had returned to Dawnstar. He longed to see Mjoll again and hold her in his arms. But all thought of seeing his beloved again fled from his mind when he heard shouts from the deck above. He pushed himself up, took his great-sword in hand and bounded down the hall and up the stairs to see what might be the matter. When he reached the top, he saw the crew getting ready for battle, swords, axes and bows in hand, with at least two large mounted crossbows of Dwemer design being positioned on port side of the ship. Looking thither, Eirik saw the endless sea opening up across the port, with a small spot of grayish land in the distance.<p>

But then he saw two ships with red banners. One was port-side to the left of the small gray island and the other was also port-side but on the other side of the island, near a shadowy gray land whose shore could be seen as a black line in the distance. Turning around, Eirik thought that they had come the wrong way and landed near Raven Rock, but nothing here was familiar to his eyes. He saw gray, ash-covered wastelands and mountains in the distance, but nothing much else. Then he saw, on the land just off the starboard side of the ship, several smaller boats making their way from the land. On the edge of the shore he saw several figures in goldish armor with a red banner held above their heads by one.

"Shor's bones!" Eirik exclaimed. "What is this?"

"We're under attack!" Crixus shouted from the helm above the captain's cabin. Turning there, Eirik saw that he was not at the wheel but standing near something on top of the deck. Eirik was about to make his way up when suddenly there was a loud explosion and a burst of black smoke and Crixus went flying down onto the deck at Eirik's feet. He cried out and Eirik noticed that, while he was pushing himself up, Crixus could only use his right arm.

"What happened?" Eirik asked.

"Fire-ball," Crixus groaned. "Someone guessed we'd have a cannon on a Redguard ship."

"Who? Who's attacking us?"

"Who do you think? Damn dirty Dunmer!"

"Why not give them what they want?" Eirik asked sarcastically. "Why are you even resorting to calling them such?"

"Because what they want is us!" Shaddar shouted from the helm. He was at the wheel and, despite looking shaken up from the explosion.

"Then we'll fight back!" Eirik said.

"Too late," Crixus replied. "Even if we hoisted anchor now, there's no escape out of the bay."

"Those damn dark elves won't take the Red Dog while I am captain!" Shaddar exclaimed, drawing out his scimitar. "Fight to the last man!"

"Belay that!" Crixus shouted. "I'm not dying for you, old friend."

"I'm with the captain," Eirik said. "If those Dunmer get on this ship, I can Shout them back into the sea!"

By now, Shaddar had made his way down to where Crixus and Eirik stood, and was looking angrily at the Colovian.

"_I_ am the captain of this ship, Servius!" said the old man.

"And you made a mistake going north of Solstheim!" Crixus stated. "This is what you get for that. We won't get anywhere if we all commit suicide fighting these Dunmer. Might as well find a way to live a little bit longer."

At that moment a grapple was hooked onto the rail of the ship and shortly thereafter bone-mold armored Dunmer soldiers were hopping all over the deck, drawing out their swords and axes on the crew. One of their number removed his helmet, revealing a Dunmer man with deep-set red eyes and his hair cut into a traditional mohawk.

"Who is the captain of this slave ship?" he demanded in a voice of authority.

"I am the captain of the Red Dog," Shaddar spoke up. "And this is not a slave ship, this is a merchant vessel!"

"You're not a Dunmer," the soldier said. "And where is your writ of permission, 'captain?' We don't take kindly to your kind in Morrowind these days."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Eirik asked.

"You have no place to talk, snow-back!" the Dunmer shouted, then turned to his fellow Dunmer. "Kill this one."

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Eirik shouted.

Two Dunmer guards went flying off the starboard edge of the ship and crashed into the sea below. Before Eirik could reach for his sword, four Dunmer leaped upon him and held him down from behind. Two held each of his arms, a third held his head and the fourth ripped off Eirik's shirt and bound it for a gag about Eirik's mouth. Once gagged, the Dunmer captain approached Eirik and struck him across the face and kicked him in the groin.

"You people do not belong here," the captain said. "You don't belong anywhere. And I aim to make sure you pay for trespassing on our territory." He then turned to Shaddar and Crixus. "You ignorant savages bring a _Nord_ to Morrowind? Bah! Might as well have purposefully dumped a bucket of scrib into a butcher's charnel house. For exposing us to this disease, I should have you all killed and confiscate your ship!"

"You do that," Crixus said. "And you'll have the Empire to deal with. We're all citizens of the Empire and our deaths will be on _your_ hands!"

"Ha!" exclaimed the elf. "This is Morrowind! Your Empire has no jurisdiction here! And your threats don't scare us, snow-back. Your Empire cannot even defend itself from the Aldmeri Dominion!"

"Then why don't you just kill us and get it over with?" Crixus sneered.

"Captain Lelvyth!" one of the helmeted soldiers spoke up. "The Festival of Remembrance is not yet over. Surely we cannot..."

"Silence!" captain Lelvyth shouted. After a while he groaned out a sigh. "The Tribunal smiles upon you, outsiders, for whatever reasons I cannot say. As it so happens, the Festival of Remembrance is currently underway in the city of Blacklight. There are...certain rules which govern that day, and as they don't apply to you, you cannot die today as you deserve." He then smiled.

"But you are still trespassing in the domains of House Redoran," he continued. "Therefore you shall be taken back to Blacklight and imprisoned until the end of the festival in four days time. After that, you shall be killed. Take them all away!"

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I really wanted to get this chapter out as soon as possible as well as a much shorter chapter than the last one.)<strong>

**(I made a reference to _Redguard_, one of several I will make in this story or _The Dragon of the South_. There are apparently cannons in _Redguard_ despite there being no gunpowder in Tamriel and that was in the Third Era. My guess is that the Redguards have made advances in that field, which might explain one reason why they had an advantage over the Thalmor. These advances were made during a turbulent time in Hammerfell history, shortly after which the Redguards left the Empire, which is why the post-_Oblivion_ Empire does not have gunpowder weapons. I'm not saying that if I made a spin-off set in Hammerfell [which I plan to do] that everyone will be having handguns and rifles and shit, just that armies will have a very large and very cumbersome cannon for a siege or whatever, sort of like the French during the latter half of the Hundred Years War.)**


	17. The Mouths of Madness

**(AN: It's kind of a thing of mine in story-telling [probably from my time with the _Harry Potter_ books] that either chapter sixteen or seventeen has all hell breaking loose. I'm glad I got to make that happen in the last chapter.)  
><strong>

**(The title of this chapter comes from the lyrics to _Orchid_'s title song off their latest album The Mouths of Madness. We also get the appearance of a certain character and some rather interesting hints at my fanon version of _Oblivion_ as well as...well, you'll see. MAJOR spoilers from _Oblivion_ as well as _Shivering Isles_.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Mouths of Madness<strong>

Of all the possible deaths which Eirik had faced, languishing for four days in a Dunmer prison in Blacklight, the capital of Morrowind, was not one of them. Even had he not been bound, gagged and beaten - while Torgrim and Lydia had only been bound - he knew that he was not welcome in this part of Tamriel. The faces of those he saw in the street were filled with anger, their bony faces contorted in pure loathing and their red eyes dripping with malice.

They were then brought below the ash-filled streets of Blacklight - whose black, chitinous houses and buildings made it look little different than Raven Rock - and into the dungeon of Redoran Keep: a large stone structure which Eirik found strangely out of place. Here they were so many that the prison warden actually released almost all the other prisoners - a thief, a kinslayer and a Khajiit - in order for there to be enough room for them all. Even then there was only three to a cell and some had even more than three. Only one previous prisoner - a Dunmer who had forced himself upon a noblewoman of House Redoran - had been kept in the prison. Once Eirik went into his cell, he watched the others to see if Lydia was alright and who else had been captured. Crixus was thrown into his cell, but there was no sign of Lydia, Gorak or Eld. Whether they were dead or had escaped capture he did not know.

Once the doors were shut and the bolts locked, Crixus tried to find out as much as he could about Blacklight. The prison warden and the guards were not helpful and struck his hands with their truncheons if he, clinging to the bars, called out to them. The only one who was open to talking was the rapist, Feryn Dreth, who inhabited the cell directly across from them. Unfortunately, he seemed to be enjoying how they were, in his words, 'crawling' before his knees for information.

"My brother Romlyn," he said one day. "Tells me all about your kind in Skyrim. He says they treat him like shit, paying him less than his due or sometimes nothing at all. They spit on him and throw stones at him, calling him 'darky', 'long-ears' and 'gray-back!' Like a Dreth should bear such indignity! My ancestor was there when Uriel Septim was slain. He fought off the Mythic Dawn assassins all by himself, with both hands tied behind his back! And he would have saved your precious emperor were it not for that meddlesome Argonian, the one they call the 'Hero of Kvatch.'"

"You're in here with us, friend," Crixus said. "You have no reason to be..."

"Don't call me friend!" Feryn replied. "I'll be out of here in no time. That Redoran b*tch was honored to have my seed in her and soon the high councilor will see that. Not so lucky for you, though, I tro. You have friends, don't you, Imperial? Hmm? Friends, family, loved ones, siblings. Oh, don't you worry about them, I'll take good care of them for you once you're dead!"

Crixus struggled against the bars, futilely hoping that he could break them with his strength even though his left arm was still aching with each shove. "Keep on talking, Dunmer, and I'll rip out your tongue and shove it up your arse!" Crixus threatened.

"Ooh, tough talk, snow-back, I'm scared!" mocked Feryn. "But you can talk all you want, because you're going to die here, don't you know? You and all of your friends. You're all going to die!" Having said his peace, he turned his back to Crixus and leaned against the bars of his cell.

As the days wiled on, the talk with Feryn did not grow any more cordial, though Crixus was able to learn a bit more through the taunts, threats and talk of their impending doom. The Festival of Remembrance was a relatively new festival held on the last three days of Morning Star and the first five days of Sun's Dusk. It was to honor and remember those of the houses of Morrowind (mostly Redoran, though) who had been 'unjustly' murdered by the cold-blooded invaders from the south. Apart from general debauchery and hedonism to enjoy the fact that the Dunmer people survived, the ordinances of the festival held that at least one Argonian, whom the Dunmer referred to unapologetically as 'scale-back', should be sacrificed to the True Tribunal.

"I thought," Crixus said. "That the Tribunal cults had died out in the Third Era."

"You know nothing, pale one," said Feryn. "The True Tribunal were not the ones whom the Nerevarine dealt with in the Third Era. No, House Redoran is wiser than to adhere to lying gods."

"From the stories I've heard," Crixus added. "Your people certainly flocked to the Nerevarine."

"And then the eyes of House Redoran were opened," Feryn continued. "Once he disappeared into the west, they opened our eyes to the True Tribunal, that which we have long since forgotten. We will not be slaves to anyone, whether your Empire, the Old Tribunal or the Nerevarine. No one enslaves House Redoran! Heh! Your people are all fools: only those who are not of House Redoran are the slaves."

"Which is laughable," Crixus snickered. "Especially since you're all slaves to the Argonians."

"Bah!" Feryn spat. "You're really as thick as you look, _human_. House Redoran would not dare allow itself to be shackled by the scale-backs. We are clever, we are fierce. We used the Red Mountain, which has laid waste to our homeland, as a barrier between the scale-backs to the south. They cannot pass farther north, but we, who are accustomed to the ash-lands, thrive in the north. Two hundred years are nothing to us. House Redoran reclaimed the northern islands and Blacklight. Soon we will have the south and drive the scale-backs out of our homeland. You Nords will be next."

"I'm no Nord, dark elf!" Crixus retorted.

"All you humans look the same to me," Feryn grumbled as he turned away from Crixus.

"How did you do it, though?" Crixus asked.

"Why do you care?" Feryn asked, shoulders turned towards Crixus.

"Well," Crixus began. "Your gods shat on you with the Red Mountain, the Nords oppress you and then the Argonians invaded you. How could your people have possibly recovered from such a severe thrashing?"

"It was difficult, aye," Feryn continued. "The way I've heard, House Redoran bribed and cajoled their way back into influence in Blacklight: good on them as well. Also, you Nords had a helping hand in that as well."

"I told you before I'm not a fucking Nord!" Crixus seethed.

"How should I know, eh?" Feryn asked, finally turning to face Crixus. "You look like one, and you're certainly as arrogant and pig-headed as one. You're also as stupid as one of them. They gave us Solstheim, thinking they were doing us a favor by giving us a frozen, barren rock. Heh! Word is that they found ebony on Solstheim just last year, the only mine that wasn't flooded by ash."

Crixus said nothing, but turned to the wall and punched the bars, then swore as his hand hurt from striking iron. He looked down and saw Eirik leaning against the wall of the cell, head hung uncharacteristically down.

"What's your problem, then?" Crixus asked. "You didn't just learn that you helped these dark elf bastards back into power."

Eirik did not answer, for he was bound about the mouth and had his hands in shackles. After the attack on the ships, the Dunmer knew better than to keep him unbound and able to Shout. Crixus was about to say something when his face suddenly fell and his haughty, arrogant tone suddenly became more sincere and sober than it had ever been in Eirik's presence. He sat down next to Eirik's side, a grim look on his face.

"What irony," he chuckled. "The one time I get to speak without having you run your ignorant Nordic mouth and we're both going to die tomorrow. Fifth of Sun's Dawn, that's what that sload-fucker said." He gestured over to Feryn's cell. He then sighed.

"You know," he began. "The history of the Third Era, of wise Uriel Septim's Empire, is painted with the blood of heroes. And those heroes were not loved by fate. The Eternal Champion found himself in a prison just like this one before he saved the Emperor from Jagar Tharn. The one these Dunmer call the Nerevarine arrived in Balmorra as a prisoner. The Hero of Kvatch, whoever she, he, it, what-the-hell-ever, was, was in prison when the Emperor saw him, her, it, according to the legends. The way I see it, you and I, we're in the company of the great ones. And while I personally don't bother with such things, if the Eight are real, then they should definitely love you: and if they don't, then Oblivion take them all!"

Eirik said nothing, as he was still bound, but turned to Crixus with a new found respect for the Colovian in his eyes. Crixus idly threw a stone at the plate of meat on the other side of the room which had been given them when they entered the cell several days ago.

"Don't touch that food, whatever you do," he said. "It's probably squirming with scrib. They'll eat you from within: slow, painful and hardly an honorable way for one of your people to go. Agh, damn dark elves! You know, when they brought us down here, I swore I saw two of those guards throwing dice or whatever, playing some kind of game for money. The coins they used were elongated and black: I'd almost say they were ebony. Guess the septim isn't worth anything out here."

Eirik rolled over on his side, gazing hopelessly at the cold, stone floor. He squirmed within his blanket, feeling Divines alone know what kind of lice crawling around in his blanket: but it was useless. The blanket was filled with the little bastards, the meat infected, the air stank with the prisoners who had inhabited this cell previously and he was stuck in a cell with Crixus rambling on about how backwards the Dunmer of House Redoran were before the glory of the Empire. He closed his eyes, hoping that his sleep would be uninterrupted. He knew that Sovngarde would not be his home - no honor in being executed by Dunmer. He missed Mjoll and Lydia and Ralof and all those he knew back home. At last sleep came upon him after what seemed like an eternity on his feet without it. His eyes slid shut and soon he was lost in sleep.

* * *

><p>When morning came, Crixus shook Eirik awake. The first thing Eirik realized was that he was not bound, either by hand or by mouth. Looking around, he saw that they were inside a large stone hall with a high vaulted ceiling. At the farthest end of the hall there was a great tree growing inside the hall, whose top disappeared into a mist gathering at the roof. At the base of the tree there was a throne of stone, with a long carpet, half red and half violet, stretching down from the foot of the throne down the length of the hall. Just before them Eirik saw a long table of wood set up with a table-cloth also half of red and violet. On the table were many different kinds of foods: roasted meats, bread, soups, sweet rolls, ale and wine in great number and cheese by the wheel. As Eirik rose to his feet with Crixus at his side, they turned to the table and saw, seated thereat, was an old man, dressed half in red and half in violet. His hand rested on a staff with three faces screaming in agony upon the head, while the other hand stroked his short beard pensively. His eyes were closed and he looked as though he were in deep thought.<p>

"It's about time, laddies," the old man spoke. His accent was a thick Bretony brogue, the kind only found by those in the highest north of High Rock and his tone was mirthful. "You know, I've been watching your progress down there. The Mistress of Dawn, the Hoarder of Knowledge, the Lady of Infinite Energies, the Queen of Nightmares and the Lord of rape have all found a way to bring your paths across theirs, but not me."

At this the old man opened his eyes and held Crixus and Eirik in his gaze. Eirik froze instantly when the eyes fell upon him and his heart froze and his mouth went dry. For the eyes he saw were the eyes of a dragon, like the red, narrow-slitted eyes of Alduin the World-Eater.

"And just who are you?" Crixus asked.

The old man laughed, a low, cold mocking laugh that seemed to drain away all the mirth of his voice. "You already know me, son. You just don't know it yet." Then he laughed again and there was mirth. "But, where are my manners? Please, sit down. You're horribly late for dinner. Punctuality is a virtue, but thankfully not one that I admire, so I'll reconsider eviscerating you until after dessert."

Eirik and Crixus slowly approached the table, but they did not sit down just yet. The old man turned to his plate and picked up a dainty, which he ate for a moment before opening his eyes and looking at them. The glare of his dragon's eyes sent shivers down both of their spines and they shortly took their seats thereafter.

"Do you know something I hate more than anything?" the old man asked.

"I have no idea," Eirik replied.

"Same here," Crixus added.

"Order, for a start," the old man began. "Things get boring when it's just one thing going orderly into the next, don't you know? Another thing I hate is the Tribunal. Those impudent bastards actually dared to challenge my authority and then refused to accept their due judgment. Those are two things I hate. Oh, and Bosmers, them wee wood elves. I had one of those annoying little fuckers following me around for quite a while. Dogging every single step!" He laughed menacingly and smiled. "He enjoyed the view in the end."

"What are you talking about?" Eirik asked.

"Nothing, that's the point," replied the old man jovially.

"Which is?" Eirik asked.

"Nothing!" the old man exclaimed. "That _is_ the point. Life has no meaning, so why not step in and stir the pot a little bit, eh?"

"But what was the point of these things you hated?" Crixus asked.

"Nothing, son," said the old man. "Just sharing a little chat. Have you two lost your appetite in prison? Eat up! The eidar is divine!" The old man burst into laughter.

"Was there anything else?" Crixus asked.

"Maybe," said the old man. "Sometimes being an immortal has its draw-backs. But thankfully you two seem like intelligent enough. You know, there are some people in the west of Skyrim that have some interesting beliefs. They believe that eating the heart and eyes of someone will give them their strength. Personally, I'd much rather go for the brains: they go quite well with cheese, you know."

Eirik was feeling off-put by how nonchalantly the old man spoke about eating brains. He spoke with the same ease as one would if they were talking about the weather.

"Of course, that's what it was!" exclaimed the old man. "Being an immortal has its draw-backs. Not a day goes by where some sorry bastard is begging me for help. 'Confound my nephew, lord!', 'Bring down a thunderstorm upon my enemies, lord!', 'Mommy never bought me that dolly I loved, so I want her to go completely bonkers, lord!'"

"You're a god?" Eirik asked.

"A god?" laughed the old man. "I've been many things. I was a woman once. A Colovian farmer who had never swung a sword or learned to read or write." The old man stretched out his arms to the large stone hall behind him. "...look at me now!"

"And just who are you?" Crixus asked.

"That is a good question, son," said the old man. "Do we really know who we are? Some think they're pure shite who have held the fate of Nirn upon their finger-tips, while others think they're made of gold but are nothing more than the rotten grape cluster: ruined for some but wine for another generation."

"Just cut the riddles and answer me straight out!" Crixus said, clearly annoyed.

"You want straight, is that it?" asked the old man. "How about straight from the ceiling? That's how your entrails will hang, wrapped around your neck with you dangling from the end. That's what'll happen if you interrupt me again, son!"

"Why do you call him son and me laddie?" Eirik asked.

"And you," the old man said, turning to Eirik. "Don't ask questions before its time to answer them. I've got more power in me than any of you could possibly imagine and if you ask me another stupid question, I will shave your skin off your body: I will wear your skin like a suit, I will then appear in Nirn dressed in your skin and I will find your wife and I will rub your arse in her face while singing 'Lady of Wayrest' on top of your mother's grave."

When both Eirik and Crixus were thoroughly horrified, the old man smirked, then finally spoke.

"As for who I am," he said with a scoff. "I've been so many things in my life, sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten. The Marquis of Madness, the Duke of Dementia, the Sithis-shaped hole in creation, Fourth Corner of the House of Troubles, the Hero of Kvatch, the Mad Star, Lord of the Never-There, the Champion of Cyrodiil: you can call me Ann Marie, but only if you're partial to being flayed alive and having an angry immortal skip rope with your fucking entrails. If not, then you may call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness."

Eirik was nervous to say the least. Aside from the consternation around being in the presence of yet another daedric prince, he began to have doubts about himself. He had always worshiped the Nine Divines, but now the words of Miraak came back into mind: once a servant of the daedra, always a servant of the daedra. One by one they were forcing their way into his life. He had done nothing to invoke them and yet they seemed to be seeking him out actively. A quick glance from the dragon eyes of the Mad-god made him even more troubled: the look in those eyes was one of understanding and menacing approval. He knew exactly what was on Eirik's mind and he approved: it was exactly where he wanted him to be.

"Bullshit," Crixus said, mirroring Eirik's very words on their first meeting. "Every story I've heard about the Hero of Kvatch said that he was an Argonian."

In that moment the old man bowed his head and when he lifted up his head, the old man was gone. Instead there was a woman, roughly middle-aged, seated on the throne, wearing the same clothes that Sheogorath had been wearing. Eirik was so disturbed that he almost vomited. For one, the face of this woman, though looking roughly his own age or within the upper mean of five years of it, reminded him of Lydia or of an older relative. Secondly, in this face, hard, stern and matured, yet so similar to the face of his huscarl, the eyes were the same dragon eyes of Sheogorath. When the woman spoke, the voice was one of a woman from the Colovian heartland.

"_I_ was no Argonian, son," said Sheogorath. "And I certainly wasn't a man, at least not in that life."

"Very nice trick," Crixus said, though his tone was unreadable.

"One of the perks of being a daedric prince," Sheogorath continued."Is that you transcend sex. That way I can assume my old form, at least before you, son." The daedric prince laughed. "You know, I was the one who suggested to Vaermina that bit about this one's wife turning into a mare in his nightmares."

Eirik's eyes fell from the familiar face of the one on the throne to the feast. Where there had once been a feast fit for a king, there was now a massacre prepared in macabre mockery of a feast. The meats and breads were replaced with severed limbs, some of them completely skinned and seared, and piles of steaming entrails. The soups were filled with floating eyeballs, the chalices were filled with blood and the cheese were mounds of fat, pale and pink, still mingled with the blood of whatever poor soul had fallen prey to the lord of madness.

"What's wrong, Dragonborn?" Sheogorath asked Eirik. "You haven't touched a thing. Rather rude of you, you know. Go on, eat up!"

"But-But..." Eirik began, gesturing at the table in disgust.

"What?" Crixus asked. "It certainly looks good enough."

"Are you insane?" Eirik shouted across. At this the daedric prince laughed again.

"Now _there_ is a good question, laddie!" she said. "Is he the insane one..." She, or he, turned its dragon's eyes towards Eirik. "...or are _you_?"

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked. "I've..."

"Well, don't look at me!" Sheogorath said, holding up her/his left hand in an apologetic gesture. "I'm not the one with nightmares about being fucked in the arse by Molag Bal. You weren't even alive when that happened. None of your ancestors were involved in that messy affair."

Crixus chuckled. "I knew you were a b*tch, but seriously?"

"It _was_ real for me!" Eirik insisted angrily, then suddenly became deathly grim. "I...I still remember...his hands upon my neck. His spit upon my back."

"That's what they all say when they come to my realm," said Sheogorath. "The people that I touch. Oh, don't worry, I don't touch people the way Molag Bal does, just..." She slid her right hand on top of the head of the staff and patted it gently.

"'My precious little girl was abducted by trolls,'" she began, imitating a Nord woman's voice. "'That's the only explanation for her change of behavior. I could see it, as plain as anything!' That's what one Nord woman said when she came here less than seventy years ago. She had given her girl a sleeping potion and then baked her into a loaf of bread. The only way to get rid of changelings, she believed." Sheogorath smiled.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Eirik asked in disgust.

"As much as you enjoy killing your enemies in battle," said the daedric prince. "What's really the difference, though, between influencing a woman to kill her own child or to kill the child for her when she's grown?"

"You're sick and twisted and...and evil!" Eirik exclaimed.

"Why?" asked Sheogorath, leaning forward with a scrutinizing glare at Eirik. "I perform a necessary function in this world. You know, without me, you would never have music, the pure, sweet, lovely notes that your Mikael or Asteria or Malukah or any of those fools in Solitude ever wind up on their flutes and lutes and drums. But why do you think I am evil? Maybe _I_ am the one who is necessary while all you do is bring order to my chaos?" She leaned back and smirked. "You should seek out Mehrunes Dagon. He would love having you as his servant."

Eirik was practically fuming, while Crixus snickered at seeing the other Dragonborn so befuddled. But Sheogorath turned to him with disapproval in his/her menacing dragon's eyes.

"I have something to say to you, nonbeliever," she said.

"Whatever you say," Crixus sneered in disbelief.

"You can choose not to believe I am who I say I am," Sheogorath continued. "That won't matter much when you're eight miles above Tamriel with no one there to catch you as you fall to your death. Have you ever heard the sound of someone's bones breaking when they've hit the ground after falling from that height?"

"Typical daedric bullshit," Crixus retorted.

Sheogorath smiled. "Despite all of your bravado, I can disarm all of your disbelief with only one question. One question out of all the questions ever to be asked, and I know both the question and the answer." She cocked an eyebrow. "Do you want to know?"

"Humor me, O mighty one," Crixus chuckled.

"What does it mean that you and I are related?"

Crixus' smile faded from his face at this question. He looked at the dragon-eyed lord of chaos with a strange unease, as though this seemingly innocent, smart-arsed god knew more than he/she let on. Perhaps there was more to him/her than just insane laughs and cheese.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"What does it mean that you and I are related?"

"But you just said you were the Hero of Kvatch," Crixus said. "How is that possible? Didn't the Hero of Kvatch disappear from Tamriel in the third year of the Fourth Era? Almost two hundred years ago, there's no way that you're my mother."

"Whether Sheogorath was your mother or not is not for me to answer," said the daedric prince. "You're far too young for Valeria Vulcanis to have carried your fat arse, even when she was mortal: and she did not bear a son. But I didn't say I was your mother, I only asked what it meant that you and I are related."

"Who is that?" Crixus asked.

"She was the Hero of Kvatch," said Sheogorath. "Until she became the Lord of the Shivering Isles: namely, me."

"Uh-huh," Crixus said in an unreadable tone. "So now if you don't mind me asking, why are we here?"

"Who says you were here at all?" asked Sheogorath.

"Well, I can see this place," said Crixus. "And I see..."

"But you yourself refuse to believe the evidence of your eyes," said the daedric prince. "If it goes against your beliefs, or lack thereof, as the case may be. Therefore, by your own reasoning, I am not here. You've been dreaming this whole time in the prison of Blacklight: everything from this palace, this table, the food, me, the question, all of it just a fantasy of your warped mind. And soon you're going to wake up and discover that you're even madder than old Pelagius. A fine fellow, that Pelagius. I rather like how he banned death in the Empire: I should very much like to see him again. It's been too long." She/he smiled and then turned to Eirik, who was averting his eyes from the horrors upon the table.

"You, on the other hand," she began, then before Eirik's eyes turned back into the form of the old man. "You're much easier to persuade. You're much more willing to accept help, wherever it may come. I can give you that." Old Sheogorath lifted up one of the skulls from off the table and lifted out from the teeth a key on a chain.

"What is this?" Eirik asked.

"I'm giving you the key, so to speak," he said. "Now it's your choice to see if you will unlock the door. Though, I probably should warn you: you may not like what you see. Once it's opened, you can never go back."

"Open?" Crixus asked. "Are you saying you're helping us?"

"I've seen more than you know, son," Old Sheogorath said to Crixus. "I might as well enjoy myself while I can."

"Well, then," Crixus said, crossing his arms smugly. "If you're really who you say you are, why don't you help out more often?"

"Oh, that would be swell, wouldn't it?" asked Sheogorath. "Aye, maybe I'd turn Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius into chickens and see the two of them fight to the death for the fate of Skyrim in a cock-fight. Or maybe wave the Wabbajack over all the Dunmer in Skyrim and turn 'em into cheese and watch those Nords devour them hungrily, then wait until they're half-way through to turn them back and see that they've been gorging themselves on dark elf flesh. Or maybe you could get your head out of your fucking arse before you ask such stupid questions! I thought you were different!"

"Different than what, if I may ask?"

"Different than the rest of these mortals," said Sheogorath. "I might not have doted on Romana every day of her 'short' life, but I know about parents: I've had many come to my realm. And I know what they know, and what they know is that it's not right to have the parent coddle a child and hold their hand if they can do it themselves."

"That's bullshit," Crixus sneered.

"Is it, now?" asked Sheogorath, anger rising. "Maybe if you think you're so great to do everything yourself, I should remind you what happened the last time the Eight and One stopped caring for mankind. The last fucking Septim had to die." Sheogorath sighed, a look of remorse on his face. "Aye, Martin was a good man. Until he turned into a god, though: hardly sporting of him, considering that he never spoke to me ever again!"

"I don't have to listen to this," Crixus groaned.

"No, you're right, you don't," said Sheogorath. "And you know what else? You don't have to keep your head on your shoulders, eh? Or perhaps a few yards of entrails inside your gut, do you? Now, as I was saying, if the Eight or the princes of Oblivion had held the hand of every mortal race in Tamriel, you'd never get anywhere. You'd be a bunch of wee babies, crying at every change in the weather or over the change from day to night. You'd never learn to live and that would be a great disservice to you. It's like a parent with their child. They know the world is mad but they won't tell the child this from the very get-go: it would ruin their spirits. Much better for them to be raised with the illusion that the world is perfect and then find all of a sudden that it really doesn't make a lick of sense."

"So that's why you're helping us escape?" Eirik asked. "So that we find out that life...or whatever we've been fighting for all our lives...is futile? Is all life in vain?"

"Of course it is, that's the point," repeated Sheogorath. "But, as for your escape, I'm not helping you escape. All I've done is given you the key. _You_ will be the one who will have to decide whether to choose to take it or choose to reject it. So long, now, children."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: We've had Azura, Meridia, Hermaeus Mora, Molag Bal, Sanguine and Vaermina physically appear in these stories, so why not Sheogorath? <strong>**He/she is very important to the future of this story, so that's one reason why to have the daedric prince of madness appear. Since my reviewers [all one of them] would probably not know, I'll give a bit of insight. The look of the Hero of Kvatch [who is not an Argonian] is based on the Spartan Queen Gorgo from _300_, as played by Lena Headey, who looks a little like Lydia [here's an interesting factoid: Headey also looks somewhat like Lauren McFall, who played Lydia in Kristen Nedopak's _Skyrim_ parody from YouTube, and who was the visual reference for Lydia in my stories], which is why I made that mention.)**

**(Of course, because I'm an idiot, I kept typing "Namira" instead of "Vaermina". I also had my brother proof-read the chapter and he found a lot wrong with it, so there's some more to edit. I don't know, it feels like any story I work on loses interest after more than ten words, not just this story. Maybe I'm going through a fourth-life crisis. I mean, I'm almost twenty-four and I've nothing to my name! Quorthon of _Bathory _had about five albums to his name by that age! Me? I was in a death metal band for eight months, we wrote very few songs, never played live, never recorded anything, and then broke up when the bassist [and owner of the rehearsal space, including the drum-set] moved. With my laptop dead, I can't record on my own and finding new players sucks. Job outlooks are also pretty poor [thank you VERY much, o most-beloved president!] and all I've been writing are fan-fics because nobody reads my original works and...oh hell, you don't care. As long as I put out more chapters, no fucks would be given by my reviewers [all one of you])  
><strong>


	18. The Great Escape

**(AN: Sheogorath is mad. He is the mad god. That is part of the _Elder Scrolls_ lore. I feel like I wasn't doing him justice at all, like my version was either too tame or not crazy enough. There were more cells in the prison than just two: the only ones that are significant were Feryn Dreth's and Eirik and Crixus'. Also, _this_ again! While I don't promote racism, that is an integral part of the _Elder Scrolls_ lore. "Almighty" and "all-knowing" Michael Kirkbride wrote that into the lore with the much loved _Morrowind_, which has been picked up by each successive game because it makes the world feel more realistic. Personally, I hate these _Elder Scrolls_ fan-fics that go out of their way to gold-wash racism out of the _Elder Scrolls_ stories: you know, where the Dragonborn is going to Helgen and in his cart is Ulfric, Ralof, Lokir and Ulfric's Dunmer wife and Ralof's Altmer girlfriend [i shit you not, i've seen those stories]: to me, they are as unrealistic, OOC and out of place as those mods that put anime characters in _Skyrim_ or spam trees in every hold city!)**

**(To say that this cultural elitism does not exist is to literally rewrite the whole of _Elder Scrolls_ lore. Oh, you don't like racism in an _Elder Scrolls_ story? Fine then, why did the Falmer lead a genocide of the Atmoran settlers in Skyrim? Why did the Dwemer enslave the Falmer? Why did the Ayleids have human slaves? Why did the Dunmer enslave the Argonians? Do the Khajiit just not want to take over the world anymore? Why does Ulfric not trust the Dunmer, Argonians and Khajiit? And, of course, if there is no racism in Tamriel, why do the Thalmor want to take control over EVERYBODY?!)**

**(But I've spent too much time in Morrowind. I would say fan-service but since I only have one and a half reviewers, not so much. Mostly, I think, it was to have Sheogorath appear [daedra pretty much own Morrowind and the Dunmer do worship him, though he's not officially of the "True Tribunal"] and set up the question, which will all pay off once we get to "Dragon of the South." Because, like Russell T. Davies, I'm a fan of Chekhov's gun, the literary device where everything you put into the story has to have some importance. So far the only thing I've put into _this_ story which I regret putting there was the riekling cameo, but that was just because Solstheim has been pretty boring in my story so far and hasn't really had much action aside from Miraak, a few ash-spawn [if any] and were-bears and werewolves.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Great Escape<strong>

Eirik awoke to the sound of commotion coming from the prison hall. There were no shouts or cries of alarm, for someone or something was swiftly dispatching the guards one by one. It was dark in the cell and Eirik could see nothing, and his hands were tied behind his back. On the other hand, Crixus was already on his way to the bars, gazing out at the glow of the torches hanging on the wall. Three guards lay on the ground and three figures were approaching from the darkness, though he had the distinct knowledge that there were more than just those three.

"Who's there?" Crixus asked.

"Don't you know a rescue when you see one?" a familiar voice asked. Eirik recognized the voice at once.

"Come on, get us out of here!" Crixus urged.

"Did you find the key?" Lydia asked.

"No," a brutish orc's voice replied. "None of the guards had it on them."

"Well, there's always one other way to break them out," Lydia said.

Eirik shuffled where he lay against the wall, trying to make himself heard or known in some way. At that moment something fell from out of his hands with a soft clink: too soft to be heard by Lydia and, possibly, Gorak and their rescuers, but not escaping the keen ears of Crixus. Turning around, he picked something up off the ground and held it up. Crixus laughed as he ran to the door and stuck it into the lock and began turning it around.

"That magnificent bastard!" Crixus exclaimed. "All of it in our heads, was it?"

At that point, several Redguards bearing torches entered the prison and their light flooded the hall. Eirik saw Lydia and Gorak standing there, but he also saw the giantess Eld hunched over, unarmed but still dangerous. The prison door swung open and Crixus laughed as he left the cell. On the other side, Eirik could hear Feryn Dreth, realizing that escape was possible, pleading for his rescue.

"You'll help me, won't you?" he asked. "Please, pretty snow-back. I'm with them! I'm one of them, I don't belong here."

"Give me your sword, housecarl," Crixus said to Lydia.

But she was not listening. She noticed Eirik and was on her way over into the cell. She removed the gag from her thane's mouth and then set about the shackles on his wrists.

"Lydia!" Eirik exclaimed at last. "You've come in the nick of time, we were about to be executed in the morning."

"It's already morning, my thane," Lydia added. "The bells of Blacklight already tolled twice. The old man showed me the swiftest way into town, as well as the way with fewest guards."

"The old man?" Eirik asked.

"A strange old fellow," Lydia stated. "Breton I think. Dammit! Crixus, we need the..."

But it was no avail trying to get Crixus' attention. He was off down the prison hall, unlocking cells right and left of those others of Shaddar's crew which had been captured by the Dunmer. Lydia swore under her breath then drew out her sword. In one swift motion, the chain had been cut and Eirik's hands were free, though his wrists still bore the tattered remains of the shackles. He pushed himself up and made his way out of the prison cell. The hall was already filling up with those freed members of Shaddar's crew. Gorak was rummaging through the desks near the front of the prison and Eld was hunched down, waiting for something to do.

"Wait," Eirik said, turning to Lydia. "The old man. Tell me about his eyes."

"There's no time," she replied. "We're escaping."

"What did they look like?"

"Seriously, my thane. Not the time to talk!"

"Lydia!"

"Do you_ really_ want to fight off all the Dunmer of Blacklight over an old man's eyes?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

"Just tell me already!"

Lydia rolled her eyes and sighed. "They looked like dragon's eyes, okay? Are we done? Let's get out of here!"

Moments later, Crixus and Rayya came running back along the prison hall. From behind came Gorak, dragging a large chest from the warden's desk at the front of the prison. The orc did not wait for Crixus to try to pick the lock as he seized the lock in his hands and ripped it from the chest with three strong tugs. Inside Eirik saw Crixus' clothes.

"What about my armor?" Eirik asked.

"There may be other chests in the warden's quarters," Gorak replied. He then turned to Eld, who ripped open a door in the side of the dungeon wall by the warden's desk and the orc and giantess disappeared.

"Come on, now!" the Dunmer in the prison cried out as Crixus stowed the key into his pocket. "I'm on your side!"

Crixus turned to him, walked up to his cell, reached in behind the bars and, before Feryn Dreth could respond, seized his head from behind and slammed him face first into the bars, knocking him out. Behind him the other crewmen were running out to the warden's desk. Gorak appeared shortly from the door, dragging a chest out of the room: behind him came Eld, dragging two chests.

"We won't have a chance to escape with all this noise," Eirik stated.

"Don't worry, my thane," Lydia replied. "We managed to find out where they've taken the ship. Once we're all armed and liberated, getting there won't be a problem."

"As long as we hurry," Crixus added. "Someone is bound to find out that we've escaped."

While they were talking, one of the Dunmer prison guards started to stir from his unconscious state. Eirik noticed him rise to a kneeling position, draw out a dagger and lunge towards Gorak. But before the elf's blade could make contact, Eirik threw himself at the smaller dark elf, sending him straight onto the floor. He struck the elf several times in the face until he collapsed, nose broken and bleeding. Gorak grunted in approval but said nothing else as he made his way to one of the chests and tore open the lock. Inside Eirik saw his clothes and armor. As he went to search through the pile, a familiar voice called out to him. Turning around he saw Rayya standing there, with Shaddar behind her. In her hands was the great-sword of the Skaal.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Bleh, this chapter felt like it took forever. I've actually got some rather shocking things happening, we just need to get out of Morrowind. For that reason, there probably won't be a chapter detailing everything that happens on the escape from Blacklight. The fans may love it, but it is so detached from everything going on in <em>Skyrim<em> that even the people of Solstheim are like "dragons? bah, that's nothing!", which totally undermines the threat of Alduin if you play the _Dragonborn_ expansion before completing the main quest.)**

**(As for EUIV, I haven't played it, but I have played _Crusader Kings II_, which is made by the same company, same engine and is even backwards compatible with _Europa Universalis_. My two main problems I have faced in that game are not from without [with one exception from Sarkland, if you know what I mean] but from within. My own feudal lords are dicks and usually they, not the peasants, are the reason for about 100% of my problems in the game.)  
><strong>


	19. Sharing Stories

**(AN: One of the many bad things to happen in this part of the story will take place in this chapter.)**

**(Just something I'd like to say before we continue here. The reason for the "ease" of their escape was because of a certain character and their affinity with the daedra. I won't say which one, but I've probably dropped sufficient hints for someone to guess. And if they can't, well I'll have to save the explanation for "The Dragon of the South.")**

* * *

><p><strong>Sharing Stories<br>**

The escape from the dungeons of Blacklight Keep was easier than Eirik and Crixus had thought it would be. They had reached the docks without any alarms being sounded and though the Red Dog was guarded by a small regiment of seven Dunmer guards, Shaddar's crew outnumbered them greatly. At Crixus' insistence, no survivors would be left to tell of their flight or send ships after them. Their throats were cut and their bodies thrown over the side of the ship.

When morning finally dawned, Eirik was gazing thoughtfully out across the bow of the Red Dog. The seas were choppy and the sky above covered in clouds. Whatever storm had blown them off course was now threatening to keep them once again from the Fatherland of Skyrim. Eirik considered shouting the clouds away when suddenly Crixus approached him from behind.

"You know," he said, disturbing Eirik from his thoughts. "You should really learn to pay attention to your surroundings. You never know when some assassin might be sneaking up behind you with a knife for your throat. And considering who you are and all the people you've managed to piss off, I would be sleeping with a knife of my own under my pillow if I were you."

Eirik did not immediately respond. Crixus leaned against the rail at Eirik's left and gazed out with him. He knew more than Eirik did what those dark clouds on the horizon entailed.

"Are you really upset about killing those guards?" Crixus asked. "I never thought you'd give a shite over the lives of a few damn dirty dark elves."

"And you say we Nords treat them like scum," Eirik commented.

"Which you do," Crixus interjected. "I speak only the truth and the truth is that they're ignorant savages who would rather die in this wasteland rather than accept Imperial rule out of some immature desire for autonomy. Just like you Nords."

"Do you really want to know what I'm thinking about?" Eirik asked.

"No."

"The ease of our escape," Eirik stated.

"What do you mean?"

"The customs of Morrowind can't be that much different than those of Skyrim," Eirik began. "Surely they must have had _some_ night watch who should have seen us as we were sneaking our way through the city streets."

"You noticed that, didn't you?" Crixus asked.

"Did you have some part to play in that?" Eirik queried.

"Yeah, I might have," Crixus smirked.

"Like?"

"Like you should know better than to ask me stupid questions," Crixus retorted.

Eirik sighed. "Should have known better than to expect answers from you."

"Yeah, you should have," Crixus retorted. "But I'll give you this warning free of charge: when we get back to that shite-hole of a country of yours, whatever happens you just keep your head down and don't make a scene."

"Just what exactly are you saying?" Eirik asked.

"I'm saying," Crixus continued. "That there are some things that just _have_ to happen for the greater good. And I know how you're like, which is why I'm telling you now instead of later."

"What do you mean, 'some things just have to happen?'"

"What's going to happen is going to happen," Crixus groaned. "And there's nothing you or I can do about it. The sooner you accept it, the better everything will be for everyone." He looked towards the clouds. "You just need to know to keep your head down and weather out the storm."

"What are you talking about?" Eirik asked.

"This storm that's coming up," Crixus said evasively, pointing towards the clouds. "You need to get below deck. It'll be a hard journey back to Skyrim."

"Why?" Eirik asked. "I can shout this storm into Aetherius."

"Captain's orders, not mine," Crixus said, placing his arm around Eirik's shoulder. "That's why I came to find you. He said we have to get below."

"'We?'" Eirik asked, shrugging off Crixus' arm.

"He ordered that I go below deck as well," Crixus grumbled. "I told him that I've had experience on the high seas with this ship, but he thinks I'm too valuable to risk being swept overboard." He sighed.

"This is madness!" Eirik retorted. "I can shout down any storm that dares break over us! Just let me..."

"Captain's orders!" Crixus repeated.

Eirik reluctantly relented and followed Crixus back below deck. As they were passing down, the hatch leading to the top deck was locked behind them. He returned to the cargo room, where Lydia was awaiting him, and told her everything that transpired top deck. Lydia listened intently but said nothing until Eirik told her about Crixus' sudden evasiveness and caginess about things to come.

"I don't know, my thane," she said. "I feel like you had it right all along. This might be a trap."

"If it were a trap," Eirik said. "He should have sprung it by now. As it is, I feel like too much relies on chance to have been premeditated. How could Crixus have known that there would be a letter for me from Frea asking me to come to Solstheim?"

"Maybe that wasn't part of the trap," Lydia suggested. "Crixus seems to be clever enough, he probably used that to give you some kind of belief that this whole mission was genuine."

Eirik groaned. "I'm tired, Lydia. I can't wait to see Mjoll again. Too long we've been apart."

"It wasn't really that long, was it?" Lydia asked.

"Feels longer," Eirik stated.

"You know," Lydia began. "You two barely knew each other for three months before you decided to get married. I wonder if, once this war is over, you two will realize you have less in common than you thought."

"What, are you wagering that she'll leave me?"

"Not at all," Lydia replied. "I just think that you two might have...rushed into getting married."

"Lydia?"

"Yes, my thane?"

"Shut up."

Lydia groaned. "Then what do I do while we're stuck here below deck?"

* * *

><p>The Fifth Day of Sun's Dawn passed beneath the deck of the Red Dog without incident. Eirik and Lydia shared a meager meal then wrapped themselves in their cloaks and tried to keep themselves dry as the afternoon lagged on lazily before them. The waves beat against the hull of the ship, slowly rocking them to sleep. It was one of the few times that Eirik was able to sleep as long as he desired, for when he awoke it was already past dawn, though there was no dawn in the overcast sky above deck. Like before, the day dragged onward without so much as a sign or sound from above that they were nearing Dawnstar.<p>

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Crixus made his way to the cargo hold and found Lydia and Eirik lying about with seemingly nothing to do.

"Bored already?" Crixus asked.

"We should have been there by now," Eirik stated.

"It's this damn storm," Crixus complained.

"Then you should have let me clear the sky for you!" Eirik insisted.

Crixus did not reply, but sat down on one of the barrels between them.

"Well," he began. "Since we're both stuck down here with nothing to do, why don't we ask each other questions, eh? I'll start off with an old favorite. You're in town and the baker gives you a sweet-roll. You go into an alley to eat it but are surrounded by three thugs. The leader demands your sweet-roll or else they'll beat you up and take it. What do you do?"

"Give it to him," Eirik said. "You can always come back with friends and make them pay for what they've done."

Crixus snickered. "What about you, housecarl?"

"Throw the sweet-roll on the ground and step on it," Lydia replied. "Let them know that you're ready to kick their asses!"

Crixus laughed. "I would have thrown it up. Would have given me time to attack their leader while they're looking at the sweet-roll. Come on now, Eirik, your turn."

"Can't we talk about something important?" Eirik asked.

"So you can resort to b*tching me out like always?" Crixus retorted. "Come on, we can enjoy some small-talk, can't we? Does every conversation have to be grim and serious?"

"We are at war," Eirik said. "There's little point in being merry."

"Might as well, eh?" Crixus replied. "We have the time for it. Here, let me share with you a little song common among seafaring folk. Quite an old tune, also."

_Ho hey, Sweet Lady of Wayrest  
>Ho hey, sweet lady of mine<em>  
><em>I'll see you again<br>Yes, I'll see you again  
>Sweet Lady of Wayrest so fine<em>

Eirik chuckled, then turned to Crixus, cleared his throat and replied.

_There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red  
>Who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead<em>

"Anything but that!" Crixus retorted. "If I have to sit in one more tavern and hear some skin-and-bones Nord milk-drinker sing that song, some heads are gonna roll."

"I've got nothing," Eirik said, shaking his head. "I'm not much of a bard."

"Torgrim is," Crixus added. "He's got a voice like a living mountain. Asteria taught him how to sing when they were in Markarth."

"Who is Asteria?" Eirik asked. "I heard Sheogorath mention that name along with Mikael and Malukah. Who is Asteria?"

"She's from Chorrol," Crixus stated. "A traveling minstrel who happened to cross Torgrim's path on his way to Markarth. They had a little bit of a run-in with the locals, but nothing he couldn't handle. I think she might still be there, singing and playing in the court of Jarl Igmund."

"How many people do you know?" Eirik asked.

"Quite a few, actually," Crixus said proudly. "You've already met Jordis and Eola. Jordis was placed in my service as a gesture of gratitude from Queen Elisif for saving her life from an assassin."

"She's not queen yet," Eirik replied.

"Maybe, but she will be," Crixus retorted.

"You know," Eirik brought up. "Since we're on the subject of small talk, why not tell me more about yourself?"

Crixus scoffed. "Believe me. The less you know, the safer you are. And let's just leave it at that."

"But what did he mean by you and he being related?" Eirik asked. "Are you saying that you're related to a daedric lord?"

"Could be possible," Crixus stated. "You know, Serana told me about Lamae Beolfag, the first vampire. She could be considered a child of the daedra, so it's not impossible."

"You're avoiding the issue again."

"For good reason."

"I've heard you mention your brother before," Eirik said. "Back at Driftshade Refuge, when we took the fight to the Silver Hand. And then on Solstheim, Ancarion said something about you and your parents and you killed him for it. And now Sheogorath, the mad god or whatever he called himself, said that it means something that you two are related. I think I need some answers now!"

Crixus was quiet for a moment, seeming a bit uncomfortable with answering before at last he spoke.

"Valerius Crixus was a city guard in Anvil," Crixus began. "He...married a member of the Maro family, who have ties to the Penitus Oculatus. He wasn't originally from Anvil. The Crixus line goes back about beyond count, always living as farmers in Bruma. Farther than Longinus Crixus, my great great grandsire, I can't recall. But it was his son, Cicero, who really increased my family's name. He married Alessia the Unlucky and later a son was born: Aleppo. No finer member of my family has there been than my grandfather: he was the one who moved the family to Anvil." He sighed. "The old man died before Titus Mede took the throne. Perhaps he was fortunate not to see the Empire fall the way it has."

"Doesn't really tell me much about them," Eirik replied.

"Well, what about you, then?" Crixus retorted. "Do tell me the great stories of how many trees your ancestors felled!"

"We weren't always woodsmen," Eirik said. "My paternal ancestor Sigurd the Old is said to have lived a hundred years and fought in Bruma against the daedric hordes in the Oblivion Crisis."

"That's what everyone says," Crixus sneered. "Same with the Hero of Kvatch. Name, face, race and sex change with each person telling the story."

"Sigurd bore seven sons," Eirik continued. "The seventh was my ancestor Ingvar the Mighty. They said that he must have been a giant, for he was eight feet tall and could crush a man's skull with his bare hands. On a journey to Solstheim, he dragged the drekkar to shore with his bare-hands."

"Typical Nord embellishment," Crixus sneered once more.

"If it makes you feel better," Eirik retorted. "His son was more after what _you_ think we Nords are: brigands and outlaws. His son, my grandfather Thore, was the one who settled down in Falkreath and began his trade as a woodsman. That's where my father was before he joined the Legion."

"Your father was in the Imperial Legion?" Crixus asked.

"He fought in the Great War against the Dominion," Eirik retorted.

"I wager he's turning in his grave to see you," Crixus sneered. "His only son, a rebel, a turncoat and traitor!"

"And what of your father?" Eirik retorted. "Would he be accepting of you?"

"He would be _proud_ of me!" Crixus retorted, rising to his feet and beating his chest in a very atypical 'Nordic' fashion. "Because I'm serving my country, unlike you!" He sat back down and then looked at the ceiling. For a moment he hesitated before he hung his head, threw off his hood and ran his hand over his shaven head.

"What was his name? Your father."

"Bjorn Thoresson."

"You're shitting me!" Crixus exclaimed. "Second Auxiliary Caliga Bjorn was your father?"

"You knew my father?" Eirik asked.

"Knew him! I fought alongside him at the Battle of the Red Ring!" Crixus chuckled. "That old bastard didn't tell me he had a son. Of course I was just a boy at the time, barely even nineteen. Wasn't exactly on my mind at the time."

Eirik paused, unable to speak. Surely the Nine were mocking him by throwing into his path the most disagreeable person in all of Tamriel who just happened to know his father. All he knew of his father was a broken old man who had greeted him with pride in the Hall of Shor but last year. Was Crixus leading him on with this pretense of amazement? The way he spoke was unlike anything he had ever seen from Crixus: if he had seen the look on anyone else, he would have sworn that it was amazement and even interest.

"I'll never forget what he said to me," Crixus said soberly, gazing at the lantern swaying from the ceiling with the crashing of the waves. "There I was, an optimistic nineteen year old nothing, on a dangerous mission to fight the good fight for the greater glory of the Empire. And there was this old Nord in Imperial armor. Sedris always warned me about them: dumb, drunken, murderous brutes. He asked me why I was fighting. I...I never told anyone else in the Legion about Venerius, they usually just laughed me to scorn because I was so young and inexperienced. So I...I said that I was fighting for the glory of the Empire." Crixus rose up from the barrel on which he sat, speaking now more to himself than to the others.

"I never thought of it until now just how much he must have been changed by the war, how much it had broken him. He talked about all the men who had died at his side. He told me...he told me why he fought: to protect the ones he loved. He said that was reason enough to give every last drop of his blood and..." Crixus paused. "It was the first time I knew that I was in the right place." Crixus sighed, then turned back to Eirik.

"And then the incident at Red Dog Pass," he said. "After that bloody day when we returned home, I realized that he was right. All of the blood we had shed had been in vain."

Suddenly there was a loud pounding sound coming from down the hall of the ship. Voices could be heard and Eirik distinctly heard the sound of one voice he recognized in particular from the incident at Ivarstead last month. He turned to Crixus with renewed horror in his eyes.

"What have you done?" he asked.

"What was necessary," Crixus replied.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Some interesting character development in this chapter, to say the least. We also get some hints at Crixus' past, as well as some genealogy stuff which will be important for the big reveal later on in this story. Remember to review please)<br>**

**(Update: some of the details here didn't match what i eventually put down in later chapters as well as in my notes, so i went back and repaired them.)**


	20. Morning Star's Riddle

**(AN: And there you are, the _Morrowind_ hipster reviewer. I knew it wouldn't be long before I got one on my story [i had one constantly on "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", so i knew it was only a matter of time]. My brother would like you right well, as he's started playing _Morrowind_ and has become hooked on it [racist Dunmer are okay to him because, after all, POCs can be racist all they want and get away with it because they say - they actually say - that they're not white and only white people are racists]. But instead of starting another _Morrowind_ vs. _Skyrim_ argument, I want to answer some of your questions. Maybe I was off with 'regiment', but I always saw a legion as 3,000. As far as Crixus goes, he doesn't wear his armor all the time because he stated in "The Dragonborn and the Lioness" that if he is noticed in armor with Eirik, his life will be forfeit. Also, his purpose in Skyrim is not just to join the Legion and kill Nords [that's just why he likes doing it]. But I can't say what his real purpose is because it is not yet time to reveal that.)**

**(Also, before I go on, _Wetoos_, let me ask you something: what do you think of Michael Kirkbride's _C0DA_? My brother just plain ignores that it exists [even though he, like all the other _Morrowind_ hipsters, loves everything Kirkbride did in _Morrowind_ and, like the _Star Wars_ fans with Kershner or the _Megadeth_ fans/_Metallica_ "fans" with Dave Mustaine, believes that everything good about _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ came from Kirkbride and Kirkbride alone while all the bad stuff - playdoh heads, dragons, "HD dirt", etc. - was not his fault]. But from what I've seen, all the other _Elder Scrolls_ fan-boys - many of them _Morrowind_ hipsters - love it without question because...you guessed it, Kirkbride did it. Personally, it has no bearing on my story except what it said about the Empire in one little foot-note in its confusing, pseudo-existential, pompous mass of incongruent text.)**

**(Last words: when I say "_Morrowind_ hipster", I am, of course, referring to the bulk of _Elder Scrolls _fans who believe that _Morrowind_ was the Holy Grail of role-playing games, Vivec's gift to Mer-kind, the knees of the bees, the answer to the question "what is the meaning of life?" and that everything that came after it - namely _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ - are pure dog-shit worse than Lou Reed's last album and to be hated more than anything and anyone. I personally think that _Morrowind_ is like _Clerks _and a good deal of indie movies: pretentious and not really that interesting. Now that I've pissed everybody off, on with the story.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Morning Star's Riddle<strong>

A bucket of cold water was thrust into Eirik's face, yanking him unceremoniously out of sleep. Where was he? The walls were familiar. Was he back inside the prison of Solitude so many months ago when the Thalmor had captured him? It was all coming back to him now. There were no Thalmor this time, only Imperial soldiers. Crixus had led him into a trap. The Red Dog had skirted past Dawnstar all together and landed instead in the harbor of Solitude. By the time the sound of Imperial _caligae_ boots was heard banging on the door to the lower decks, it was too late. There was nowhere to run and Eirik was bound before he could utter a word in the Dragon tongue.

As he tried to breathe through the soaked gag about his mouth, Eirik heard two familiar voices arguing just a little farther down the hall. One was very young and timid-sounding, the other was harsh and cultured, a Colovian general.

"I don't see what danger there could be, good general," the young voice said. "He's been bound and gagged."

"He's a rebel," the other voice replied. "And he's stubborn and refuses to acknowledge when he's been defeated, just like the rest of you Nords. There's no point in keeping him here if we can't interrogate him. Send him to the block where he belongs!"

"No, General Tullius!" the first voice said sharply. "He is not to be harmed in any way."

"Since when do we offer niceties to rebels, Elisif?" Tullius retorted. "Remember, he's in league with the man who killed your husband, High King Torygg."

"Don't remind me, general!" Elisif retorted.

"Listen, we both know that you're still inconsolable over the death of your husband," General Tullius continued. "Seeing him will only remind you of Ulfric and what he's done. You go back to the Blue Palace and let me handle this one."

"I'm fine, general."

"No, you're not."

"I said I'm fine!"

"There's no point in keeping him here!" Tullius retorted. "If you're not going to kill him yet, at least let the High Justicar deal with him. I'm sure he'll have some way of drawing the truth out of him, if rebels are even capable of speaking the truth. Just go back to the Palace, I'll have Thelgil brought in right away."

"I want to speak with him, general!"

"You don't need to speak with him, Elisif."

"Just who is in charge here, general? Am I not to be the High Queen of Skyrim?"

There was a pause until at last the General spoke.

"Only if I say so. I don't know what kind of pillow-talk you and Crixus share, or what he's done to you, but need I remind you that Skyrim belongs to the Empire? If you continue to fight me, then I will have no choice but to withdraw my troops and return to Cyrodiil. I wonder how long your claim to the throne of Skyrim would last if the Empire chose to remove their support."

"Is that a threat, general?"

"It's the truth. Last year this gods-forsaken country was in a dead-lock between loyalists and rebels. Now Windhelm is besieged and it's only a matter of time before we drag that monster out of his hiding place. The Empire made this possible, therefore you have an obligation to uphold. As long as you remember who brought you this far, there should be no problems in the future."

"Of course, general. I...I know you've always been a great help to us. I only wish to speak to the prisoner."

"Know that I disapprove."

"I am still Jarl in my own hold, I can do as I please."

There was nothing else heard for a while, giving Eirik a moment to think about what he had just heard. Windhelm was under siege. Had it really become that bad? Of course it was, he knew it without even having to think about it very much. Falkreath and Riften hadn't surrendered the office of Jarl from Maven and Siddgeir, whose pockets were filled with Imperial coin. The Empire had failed to act upon the stipulations of the treaty he had helped sign - or at least helped to arbitrate, since he was not there for the actual signing. Of course they did not fail to seize the opportunity to take Dawnstar, which could not be contested as it had been given to the Empire at the negotiating table. Eirik realized now that he had done more to harm the cause of the Stormcloaks than to help it with the peace treaty, for while he was in Sovngarde battling Alduin, the Empire was preparing to end the war with one fell swoop.

Now they had control of every hold in Skyrim save for Windhelm and Winterhold. He had been to Winterhold once and there was nothing there: just a few worn down buildings and a mage's college that half of Skyrim blamed for the destruction of the city. It was inconsequential and the Empire chose rather to make their direct move towards Windhelm, besieging the city. But even as he thought of this, Eirik wondered why Elisif and Tullius spoke in such hostile tones. The last time he had seen her, she seemed to be a wide-eyed, demurring little child who deferred to Tullius in all matters. Furthermore, his mind was sent into a swirl over what he had heard Tullius say regarding Crixus. While he was not as skilled in the art of love-making as others, Eirik guessed what pillow-talk meant and once again he recalled Crixus lashing out against Ancarion when he was called 'concubine.'

Eirik's thoughts were suddenly interrupted when two Imperial soldiers approached the cell and unlocked the door. Once inside, they dragged Eirik up onto his feet as two other Imperial soldiers entered the cell, both of them bearing torches. At last there entered Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude. Though Eirik had seen her before, he did not realize just how young she really was. She seemed as lithe as a wood elf and not yet of the age of twenty. Her red-golden hair reminded him of Mjoll, but her blue eyes, wide with naivete, dispelled any similarities from Eirik's mind at once.

"I've heard that you may be the Dragonborn of legend," Elisif spoke. Eirik nodded in affirmation. "Such a pity that you side with brigands and murderers."

Into Eirik's mind flashed once again what he had seen in Sovngarde, speaking to the shade of Torygg. He moved his hands and found that they were bound behind his back and the guards who held his arms on either side clenched him even tighter when he tried to move.

"Crixus spoke very highly of you," Elisif continued. "Though why for I can't understand. He asked me to keep you here in the dungeons, bound as you are for your own protection and for ours. He knows as well as I do what you would do if you could speak, just like your Ulfric Stormcloak." Eirik said nothing.

"I didn't come here to get information out of you," she went on. "There's nothing you can give me that will make any difference. The end of the war is drawing near. All I want is to look at the face of the man who chooses a murderer over his true and lawful ruler."

The young woman held Eirik in her gaze for a while. Eirik could see doubt in her eyes, which shifted periodically away from his own. What she could possibly be thinking, other than hatred, he could not guess. But for a brief moment he saw a hint of the sadness in her eyes, the sadness of one parted from their lover. He knew what it was like to be separated from a loved one and wished that he could speak, tell her what Torygg had said to tell her. But he was gagged and there was nothing he could say or do to ease her suffering.

Elisif said nothing, but she looked away and gasped. The two guards at her left and right turned to attend her, but she brushed them away and walked out of the cell. As Eirik was thrown back onto the ground and the gate locked behind the exiting guards, he pondered Elisif's departure. He didn't exactly think of himself as physically imposing, yet the way she turned away from him suggested that she found being in his company uncomfortable.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen, but Eirik the Dragonborn Bjornsson was not asleep. On his return to Skyrim he was imprisoned and sent to Helgen to die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A few months later he was a prisoner to Miraak's power, and then mere weeks later he was imprisoned in the dungeons of Solitude by the Empire under the Thalmor's orders, awaiting execution once again. Then after the Dragon crisis, he was imprisoned in Blacklight then escaped only to be imprisoned once again in the dungeons of Solitude. Were the gods still on his side?<p>

It was at this point when he heard voices speaking down the prison corridor. He wanted to move closer to the sound but he guessed that they would notice his movement and instead remained very still. If anyone looked in on him, let them think that he was asleep and unaware of what was going on in the cell. He heard two voices speaking to each other. One was obviously a Nord, thick accented and a little crude. The other was disturbingly familiar: dark in timbre yet oily smooth.

"I've heard you've been making quite a scene down here," the smooth voice said.

"I want my money," the Nord replied.

"You've already been paid for what you did," the smooth voice replied.

"You promised me half after I did what you asked of me," said the Nord. "Well, me and the boys did that alright, just as you asked. Nobody suspected nothing."

"There was no such promise made," said the smooth voice. "You received your payment and there ends the matter."

"Well, that ain't exactly gonna happen, will it now?" asked the Nord. "If I'm not paid in full, I'll talk."

"What did you say?" asked the smooth voice, his tone becoming suddenly threatening.

"What, them elvish ears ain't heard me proper, goldenrod?" the Nord asked. "If you don't give me the other half of my share, I'll talk. I'll tell them everything. I wonder what the military governor would think when he hears that the new Thalmor ambassador, justicar or whatever you are by Shor's cock, hired a band of thugs to dress up like Stormcloaks and sack ol' Rorikstead."

In the tense, pregnant pause that followed the Nord's statement, Eirik's mind rushed immediately back to Ivarstead. He had heard something about Stormcloaks attacking Rorikstead but did not believe it until they said that they had evidence. Was this their evidence? A bandit hired by the Thalmor to impersonate to sack the town of Rorikstead while disguised as Stormcloak rebels? Once again his mind flashed back to Elenwen's office what seemed like a lifetime ago, before he met Mjoll...

* * *

><p><em>The guard was out of the room and he had limited time. He carefully opened the chest and reached for the stack of folios. There were at least three of them here but no names on the leather covers. Perhaps the Thalmor didn't trust their own secret documents to have titles embossed across the covers. One of these had to show where the last Blade agent was hiding. He opened the first one, saw the name 'Delphine' at the top of the first page and stowed it aside. He pulled the next one and saw the name 'Ulfric Stormcloak' at the top and placed it next to the 'Delphine' dossier.<em>

_At last he found what he sought. The top of the page was entitled 'Thalmor dossier on Esbern, Loremaster of the Blades'. He looked down the page, quickly scanning it for any words of importance. He saw 'Falinesti', 'Akaviri', 'Cloud Ruler Temple', another disturbing remark about the 'First War against the Empire' and nothing important about the dragons. Delphine's suspicion, it seemed, was false: the Thalmor seemed to know as little about the return of the dragons as anyone else. Then at the bottom he saw it._

_'We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften.'_

_He closed the folder and greedily shoved it underneath his arm. Riften. He had heard of the name spoken briefly by some of the guards here and there in Whiterun and Windhelm, but hadn't gotten the chance to go there and visit. They said that it was a beautiful hold but a rotten city, filled to the ends with thieves, brigands and corrupt officials: certainly an odd hiding place for a master of lore, unless that was his point, to choose the least likely hiding place. He took the other folio and placed it next to Esbern's dossier, eager to show it to Delphine as soon as he returned to Riverwood.  
><em>

_His eyes fell upon the last folio. Having recently joined the Stormcloaks, a desire came over him to know what the Thalmor knew about his leader and possibly next High King. He had heard more than a few less than desirable things about Ulfric since his arrival in Skyrim, even down to the very moment of his interrupted execution in Helgen with practically everyone in town cheering for the Stormcloaks to die as the headsmen took off Gunmar's head as well as the unanimous jeers and urges to hurry Rogvir's execution when he entered Solitude. There was more to Ulfric Stormcloak than just what he had seen that day at Helgen, he could feel it in his bones. The urge to open the folio at last overcame him and he, heedless of the danger, opened it up and gazed in horror at what was written therein.  
><em>

_'Thalmor dossier on Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak rebellion_

_Status: asset (uncooperative), dormant, Emissary level approval  
>Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran<br>Background: Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact._

_Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the Civil War proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: the coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be..._

* * *

><p>Eirik was so deep in his memories that he almost failed to hear when the silence broke as the smooth voice - doubtlessly an elf due to the Nord's statement - finally replied.<p>

"Who would believe an ignorant Nord bandit over a renowned member of the Aldmeri Dominion?" he mocked. "You're nothing, an insignificant snow-back, a pile of stinking refuse. Every noble and worthy thing that your precious Empire is built off was stolen from _my_ people! Who would ever listen to _you_?"

"Come on, goldenrod," the Nord retorted. "Is all that talk about how you elves is better than everyone else just a bunch of hot air?"

"There is no need to fear anything from you, snow-back," sneered the elf. "I signed the order for your execution before coming down here. Enjoy the last moments of your worthless life, _human_."

The sound of boots walking down the hall was drowned out by taunts and mocking cries from the bandit as Eirik guessed that the elf had said all that there was to be said. As he turned back into the darkness of his cell, he began to go deeper into his own thoughts. What had horrified him so many months ago in the desk of Elenwen in the Thalmor Embassy was now coming back to haunt him. The Thalmor's whole agenda against the worship of Talos seemed like nothing compared to this. There was now no denying the fact that the Civil War was only the prelude to another war between the Empire of Tamriel and the Aldmeri Dominion of Alinor. What he had seen in that dossier proved that the Thalmor wanted Skyrim embroiled in a civil war which would leave one of the Empire's strongest provinces - and the only land uniting Cyrodiil and High Rock - so weakened that overthrowing the Empire would be child's play.

It all fell into place. The Dominion may have lost the Battle of the Red Ring, but in essence they had won the Great War. They got everything that they wanted: disbanding of the Blades by means of their execution, outlawing of Talos worship and annexation of the southwestern regions of Hammerfell. The Empire was sufficiently weakened and the Civil War only made Skyrim, and by association the Empire, weaker. The peace treaty which he thought had done absolutely nothing he saw had truly done nothing at all. The Thalmor did not even suffer a single loss from the negotiations despite Elenwen being evicted from the summit. They orchestrated a bandit attack on Rorikstead disguised as a raid by the Stormcloaks violating the treaty to get the Civil War back into action. But in one point the Thalmor had failed to consider: the tenacity and cunning of the Imperial Legion. Surely after a year of fighting, the Legion wanted a swift end to the conflict and was about to bring that end swiftly with Windhelm under siege. Now not only would the long-term threat, the second war with the Dominion, not be fought on the terms of the Empire or the people of Skyrim and not the Thalmor, the immediate threat, the Civil War, would end with Skyrim being forced back under the yoke of Imperial appeasement of Elvish whims. It all fell into place and it all meant nothing.

Eirik the Dragonborn realized that he had utterly failed.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Lots of stuff happens in this chapter, including a flash-back even though I said I wouldn't do that a lot in this story. Well, I cheated here because, like in Blacklight, Eirik is gagged, bound and imprisoned so there's not a lot of anything he can do except listen. So I wanted to give him at least <em>something<em> to do that wasn't just listening and inner thought. We also got a look at our villain, whom we haven't seen since the first chapter of this story. Also, there is a bit of a dynamic about the boring, spine-less straw-woman that the Empire chose to be the High Queen just because she's "young and naive" and "easily controlled" - kind of like Padme in _The Phantom Menace_ who was easily manipulated into voting Chancellor Valoruum out of office and is therefore as guilty for the downfall of the Republic, the fall of the Jedi and the rise of the Empire as Jar Jar Binks. In the story proper, she has no personality beyond grieving widow, she just does whatever Tullius tells her to do and even ass-hole Erikur says so [by the way, he won't ever be Jarl of Solitude or High King]. The peace treaty quest shows just how spine-less she is, but that will change somewhat in this story, and, as I've hinted, it has something to do with Crixus.)  
><strong>

**(We also got to see something that I'm sure all my reviewers will either find no problem with or actually applaud me for finally showing it: racist Nords. See, nobody in the _Elder Scrolls_ fandom cares that Dunmer are racists and slavers, they applaud the Altmer for being racist because "they're hot" [one of the reasons i modeled Ondolemar after Tom Hiddleston and Thelgil, our main villain, after benedict c*mberb*tch], but if a Nord, a white man, shows any kind of animosity towards anyone different than him, then all Nords are ignorant scum who don't deserve the right to religious freedom or even self government or, in the case of the elf-lovers, even life at all. Of course in my story, which tries to balance out the heinous anti-Nord bias the game developers [like Kirkbride] had in the game by showing that Dunmer are racist, which is something that even _Morrowind_ shows, if I show anyone else being racist or elitist, somebody throws a fit because "Dunmer can't be racist!" or "Imperials can't be racist!")**


	21. Oracle of Azura

**(AN: I've got plenty of Resist Fire potions for the flames that my decisions in this story have received/may receive. Surprisingly, that last chapter received very few.)**

**(Nevertheless, some big things are going to happen in the next few chapters. How far am I willing to take this story? Well, there won't be any one hundred and twelve chapters like in "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", that was a challenge that I feel I just could not top again. Maybe I'll go half way and give this story fifty-six chapters [lol]. I do have a few ideas to go along with in this story, but I might not even need fifty-six chapters to finish this story. Just whatever does it.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Oracle of Azura<strong>

Eirik awoke some time in the dead of night - though which night he knew not for sure. The sound of keys clinking in the lock of his cell door roused him from sleep. As he opened his eyes, he saw a hooded figure clad in dark robes enter into the cell and stand for a moment, gazing down upon him.

"Why?" a woman's voice, seasoned with age, asked softly in an accent that was decisively non-Nordic. Eirik could not answer. "Why does the Queen of Dawn and Dusk mock my people by choosing _you_ as her champion?"

A knife was drawn and Eirik pushed himself up against the wall as best he could. His hands and mouth were bound, but his feet were still of use. The figure knelt down and held up their right hand in a gesture of peace. The knife was then brought up with the left hand and severed the gag on Eirik's mouth.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am a priestess of the daedric prince Azura," the woman said from beneath her hood. "I am your escape to freedom. Turn over now, let me cut your bindings."

Eirik turned over as the sound of the woman's knife cutting at the bound cords on his wrists was heard.

"How did you get in here?" Eirik asked.

"The mistress I serve appeared to me in a dream," the woman continued. "It is the first time she has appeared to me in a great many count of years. She told me where to find you, she told me how to get into this prison and that I should rescue you."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"You are Azura's champion," the woman said begrudgingly. "She wants you free. That should be enough for you."

"What did you mean by what you said when you came in here?" Eirik asked.

"You should know, snow-back," sneered the woman.

Eirik's wrists snapped free from the bonds and he turned around to face his rescuer. The light was dim but Eirik could see a soft gleam of red beneath her hood.

"You're an elf," Eirik stated.

"And you're rather stupid, even for you snow-backs," she replied. "Now get up, we must escape this place before the guards discover us. It would be just like Azura to lead me here only to leave me to my fate."

The Dunmer woman rose up and walked out of the cell while Eirik followed after her. They were now walking down the dungeon hall to the entry way, a flight of stairs leading to the upper levels of Castle Dour. They quietly made their way up and out of the castle and then ran westward out of the castle courtyard and down a long stone ramp into the city square of Solitude.

"We're almost out," she whispered. "Stay close to me."

"Why are you doing this?" Eirik asked.

"It is Azura's will," she replied in a hushed voice.

"But you seem to harbor ill-will towards Azura," Eirik replied.

"Still I must follow her," said the elf. "It was her will that I lead my people out of Morrowind almost two hundred years ago when the Red Mountain erupted, even though we came to this shit-hole of a country. Had I closed my ears to her commands, we would have all died, buried under centuries of ash..." She scoffed. "I trust that would have been to your liking, no?"

"What? No!" Eirik retorted. "You don't even..."

"Lower your voice!" the elf hissed, then turned back to face Eirik. "You Nords are all alike: oath-breakers, murderers, bandits and traitors. I was there when Torygg's great-grandsire gave us permission to live in both Solstheim and Skyrim. I was there when the Decree of Monument was written, and I have seen your people go back on their word."

"Is that why your people support the Empire?" Eirik asked.

"_Your_ Empire?" she laughed. "All they have given my people are promises, empty words without meaning. Many of my people living in Cyrodiil died in the Great War, the Dominion spared none who stood under the banner of the Red Diamond. But when the war ended, the Empire abandoned them: they did nothing to stop the Sons of Skyrim from driving the Dunmer out of Bruma and have no interest in ending the suffering of my people in your precious city of Ysgramor."

"Isn't that why they're fighting a war?" Eirik asked.

"They fight this war because of your chief elf-killer, Ulfric Stormcloak," she replied. "He dared to defy the Empire and so they retaliated. Once he's dead, their legions will simply go back to Cyrodiil and leave my people to their fates."

"I'm sorry, I haven't..." Eirik began, but was interrupted.

"You didn't know?" she asked. "You've not treated Dunmer the way Ulfric does? I suppose you'd also say that not all you Nords are like the ones in Windhelm. Bah! One Nord alone mistreating the Dunmer is reason enough to drive the rest of you white-skinned, jaundice-haired apes into the sea to drown to death where you belong. And believe me, it _will_ happen. For too long my people have suffered silently under the yoke of Nordic oppression. You know not how many times I have listened in quiet sorrow as pilgrims came to the shrine of Azura, begging the Mistress of Twilight with tears in their eyes to bring justice upon Uflric and his band of hate-filled bigots."

They paused just at the foot of the steps leading into the town center of Solitude. Eirik looked west towards the main gate of the city while his rescuer looked east. The sight of several of the guards of the city patrolling the gate holding torches aloft made him wary. Then he noticed that the elf was not moving and turned to her.

"For too long," the elf woman continued. "My people have born the yoke of oppression from _your_ kind in silence. But no more. They cannot stand for this any longer, and they _will_ not! If Ulfric wins this war..." She scoffed. "..._if_ Ulfric wins this war, he will find another one on his hands. The Dunmer know that he has no love for us or the Empire and House Hlaalu, or what's left of it hiding in Windhelm, will not fare well if he drives the Empire out of Skyrim. My people know this and they know that the Empire will not help the Dunmer in Skyrim: we must help ourselves."

"So why are you here?" Eirik asked. "Why are you doing this if you hate Nords so much?"

"Only the Mistress of Dawn and Twilight," she continued. "Knows why you, of all people, were chosen to be her champion. But she has more important things in your future, and I suppose languishing in the dungeons of Solitude was not one of them. She requests that you come to the shrine of Azura nestled in the mountains of Winterhold."

"I have other things to do with my freedom," Eirik replied.

"She said you might say that," said the elf. "She also said that if that be the case, I should...let you go."

"Really?" Eirik asked. "Let me go? You're not going to try to force me to go back to the shrine?"

"What, even though you're unarmed and I a master of the arcane arts?" asked the elf with a chuckle. "Yes. She said that, whether you will it or no, your path shall lead to the steps of her shrine. As the old saying goes, 'Once a servant of the daedra, always a servant of the daedra.' But since you choose follow blindly in your illusion of choice, then I have one last thing to say to you."

"I think I've heard enough out of you for one night," Eirik replied. "Now which way are we..."

Before Eirik could finish his sentence, the elf woman clapped her hand over his mouth, placed her other hand around his neck and began dragging him by the neck away from the stairs and towards the shadow (seen clearly enough even at night in the light of the moons) of an arched walkway that passed over the eastern end of the market-square. Once they were under its shadow, Eirik was able to wrestle himself free of the elf's grip.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You almost got us discovered!" she hissed. "Now keep your head about you. This is the way we must go."

"But there is no way out of the city," Eirik said. "Save by the main gate."

"You know nothing, snow-back," she retorted. Turning then to one of the pillars of the giant arch that formed a wall of stone separating the houses of Solitude from the market district, she opened a door that led into a narrow stone corridor. Into this she led Eirik and they swiftly passed through the city walls and down a spiraling staircase of one of the towers.

At last they came to a door which the elf woman opened, telling Eirik to go first. Looking up, he saw that he was outside of the walls of Solitude with a clear night sky glowing under the light of the two moons. There were few stars to be seen and the last chills of the dying winter still clung to the midnight air.

"Where do I go from here?" Eirik asked.

"How should I know?" asked the elf. "I'm a priestess, not a prophetess."

"Aren't you an oracle from Azura or something?" Eirik asked. "Didn't she tell me where my friends were?"

"She told me only what I told you," replied the Dunmer woman. "And also this." She leaned in and whispered her last message into Eirik's ear.

"Tell it to no one else save for whom it was meant for," said the elf. "If they ask for who it was who sent it, tell them that it was Aranea Ienith, priestess of Azura."

Eirik said nothing as Aranea slunk away into the darkness, leaving him dressed in prison rags all alone in the darkness in enemy territory. He had returned to Skyrim but was unarmed and alone. But now he had a purpose once again.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Thankfully this chapter was shorter than the last one. The big stuff hasn't happened yet, but we're getting close. VERY close. If my reviewers have been paying attention since "The Dragonborn and the Lioness" [which they say they have], they will know that something very big is going to happen very soon. We also get to see the elf lady Aranea Ienith from the Azura quest. Seriously, the <em>Elder Scrolls<em> wiki and _UESP_ pages say that she led the Dunmer from Vvardenfell in the aftermath of the eruption of the Red Mountain, but that would make her over two hundred years old. While it is not said just how old elves are in this world, there is no definitive data to say that they're as long-lived as Tolkien's elves [and i'm sure the Kirkbride fan-boys would take offense at assuming they are like Tolkien's elves since Kirkbride's _Morrowind_ lore was so anti-Tolkien that acknowledging anything that was Tolkien-based would just be a "dumbing down" of the _Elder Scrolls_ series and making it like a DnD rip off - you know, the typical responses to _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ from that end of the fandom].)**

**(Aside from, as I think I've said after every chapter which shows the Kirkbride-instigated racism of the Dunmer, art imitating real life, there is another reason I make the Dunmer have animosity in return to the Nords. Two hundred years they've been living in Skyrim and while the first two or three kings who lived after giving them the freedom to live autonomously in _Skyrim_ without being involved in their politics [did they fight in the Great War or were the ones who died as Aranea mentioned just collateral damage?] were probably okay with that, those sentiments changed my Ulfric's time. Of course I'm sure the majority of my reviewers, like my brother, would rather have the Dunmer just take the Nords' racism on the chin and not retaliate in kind or plan to repay evil for evil [like it has been established that they will in the book "Dunmer of Skyrim"], but that is not a realistic option considering the background the Dunmer have against the Nords and against anyone who isn't Dunmer [or even who isn't Dunmer of their own House])**


	22. Return to Whiterun

**(AN: I've been building up for it, and now it just got real. You just don't know how real it is about to get! So this one, unlike the last two, is gonna be longer and will probably take a while to be published.)**

**(Also I just want to share a little bit of info about Dawnstar since we are starting here. It is bigger in this story than the one in the game, and there are buildings around the little cove where the new Dark Brotherhood sanctuary door is, which is now actually hidden in the cellar of a building rather than just out there for everyone to see.)  
><strong>

**(And before we continue, thank you for the review. I personally wish that the story could be simpler. I feel like in media as well as in literature, the lines of good and evil are blurred so much it makes me wonder why this is done so persistently and consistently. Of course the answer would be that "good and evil aren't clearly defined in real life". But why not? I mean, if good and evil are open to personal interpretation, then justice is meaningless because the criminal's idea of good [ie. stealing/killing/raping, etc. to get what he/she wants] is just as valid as the idea of good of the innocent child. That's one reason I like the idea of a medieval-style fantasy, a world where good and evil are less blurred. Because, based on just personal observation, blurring good and evil feels like it's just being done to protect someone's privileges which are usually considered morally wrong.)  
><strong>

**(How does this observation on life tie in to _Skyrim_, mind you? Well, the game starts you out with the "good" Empire killing you because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time [what is justice?]. But then there is the bait-and-switch where you think that joining the Stormcloaks is good because they're opposing this obviously callous and unjust Empire who has little care for the lives of their citizens but the game developers throw you a curve-ball by having them treat the Dunmer like trash [aww, poor racist Dunmer!] and saying in the main quest that the real threat, the Thalmor, are using Ulfric to destabilize the Empire. So obviously you run screaming "tolerance!" towards the Empire to see that they are puppets pushing the Thalmor agenda of religious oppression and are kind of idiots ["what the rebels like to forget is that the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim"...yeah, and the Thalmor are the leaders of the Dominion. Great job, Empire!]. So what does that give us? Well, it pretty much throws national identity, cultural pride, autonomy and religious freedom under the rug because those causes are being championed by "racists" so they can't do anything while the Empire is free to curb freedoms and oppress an entire country "for the good of the Empire." I don't know, call me an idealistic dreamer for wanting a clearer definition of good and evil, but that's just me.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Return to Whiterun<strong>

Lydia slowly recovered, finding herself in the cargo hold of the Red Dog. The back of her head hurt something fierce, even more than her ass had when she had been thrown into Sovngarde. As her eyes blinked open, she saw Crixus standing nearby, dressed in Imperial legionnaire armor. It was strange to see him in armor, since she had known him to wear ranger's garb rather than soldier's armor, even though he frequently boasted of his affiliation with the Legion.

"By the Nine!" she exclaimed. "Who hit me?"

"Glad to see you're awake," Crixus finally said. "We've arrived at Dawnstar. You're free to go your way."

"Free?" Lydia asked, rising to her feet. "Wha...wait a minute, where are the soldiers? Where's Eirik?"

"There wasn't anything I could do," Crixus replied. "They've taken him."

"Taken him?" Lydia replied. "Where? Who's taken him? The soldiers? Did you just let the Empire take my thane captive _again?_"

"Listen," Crixus began. "I'm not exactly sure who's seen you in his company, but where we're going next I doubt you'd be welcomed, especially if they know who you're affiliated with. So it's best that I drop you off here and tell you to go on about your merry way. Go mind the house at Breezehome or find that wench of his and tell her that he'll be a bit late coming home."

"Late?" Lydia retorted incredulously. "The Empire will kill him and you fucking let it happen! I should have followed my gut and stabbed you when I had the chance!"

"Do I need to have Gorak knock you out again and throw you off the ship?" Crixus threatened.

"Eirik was right about you," Lydia retorted. "This _was_ a trap!"

Crixus chuckled. "Sure, sure, whatever you say. Apparently I'm so fucking clever that I knew that a letter from that Skaal b*tch would arrive, asking for Eirik's help on Solstheim. I also knew exactly where to find Eirik and knew beyond a doubt that your ignorant thane, who doesn't trust me though he has more cause to trust me than that sheep-fucker Ulfric, would actually listen and come with me to Solstheim. Then, instead of doing the right thing and killing him outside of Skyrim, I anticipated that we would return to Skyrim and then I locked him below deck and waited until we docked at Solitude, under _my_ orders apparently even though I was below deck with the rest of you, and let the Legion take Eirik into custody! And you people wonder why you're the laughing stock of all of Tamriel!"

Lydia did not respond to Crixus' taunt but held him in a stern glare of derision. Crixus chuckled and then turned away, shouting something out of the door of cargo hold where they had slept.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"If you won't go," Crixus said. "You will be thrown off this ship. Gorak, have your giant woman throw her off this ship and make sure she doesn't get back on."

"Yes, legate." Gorak replied.

"And now, if you'll excuse me," Crixus said with a smug grin to Lydia. "I have to go and bring order to this shit-hole of a country. Give my regards to Eirik and to his pet lioness, if you happen to see them." With one last mocking smile he vanished from beyond the door and Lydia soon found herself swept off her feet by giant hands and dragged through the deck after Crixus onto the top deck.

* * *

><p>How long he had walked in the darkness down the Kilkreath Mountains in Haafingar, Eirik did not exactly know. He hadn't eaten since the first night of the storm on the Red Dog, but how long ago that must have been he knew not either. When he had finally lost consciousness, he had no idea where he was or if he was even going the right direction. He no longer cared for he had no weapon, no armor, no food or supplies of any kind and he had failed Skyrim and its people. There was no greater low to which he could sink than this, so he believed.<p>

When his eyes finally opened, Eirik found himself lying inside a room that stank of beer. The ceiling was made of wood and he could hear the roar of the sea just beyond the walls. As he looked around, he saw that the room was a simple inn with few trappings of any kind. Near at hand he saw a figure sitting on the bed opposite from him dressed in black and wearing a black hood cast down over their head.

"Welcome to the Jaunty Mudcrab Tavern," a familiar voice said from beneath the hood.

"The what?" Eirik groaned.

"A sailor's tavern," the voice said. "We're in Dawnstar."

"Dawnstar?" Eirik groaned again. "What happened to the Windpeak Inn? What day is it?"

"Aren't you hungry, Eirik?" the voice asked.

"You...you know me," Eirik mumbled. "But I know that voice...Serana?"

The dark figure removed the hood, revealing the face of Serana. Eirik saw her and chuckled in relief and she smiled.

"By all that is holy," Eirik laughed. "I never thought to see you again!"

"Glad to see you missed me," Serana said with a smirk. "To answer your questions, the Mudcrab is on the shore-level, the Windpeak Inn is farther up on the city level proper. Most sailors don't have the coin to pay for the big rooms over there so they come here. It is seven o'clock in the evening on the tenth day of Sun's Dawn, a Tirdas, if you want to know specifically. Now answer _my_ question: aren't you hungry?"

"Yes, I'm famished," Eirik replied. "Oh, Serana, but I am glad to see you! You would not believe all the things that I've been through!"

"You seem to lead a charmed life, my friend," Serana replied. "So I'm not exactly going to play the skeptic, since you and I have seen some pretty weird shite ourselves, haven't we?" She chuckled. "I'll see about some food, and while we're at it, there are a few people you should probably see before you leave here, if you choose to leave."

"Really?" Eirik asked. "Who else is here?"

"If you mean here in the Mudcrab," Serana returned. "Quite a few. There's a few sailors in the common room right now, the proprietor and the ones I spoke of. They're in the upper rooms."

"Where am I?" Eirik asked.

"Ground floor," Serana replied.

Eirik tried to rise, but found that he was too weak from a lack of food and his head began to swim. Serana placed her arm around his shoulders (reminding him of how cold her hands were) and guided Eirik up onto his feet, out of the bedroom and into the common room. Here she led Eirik to a table and then placed an order for some food from the bartender, a middle-aged Redguard. She quickly returned, seeming to have forgotten herself in that her hood was not thrown down in public.

"Shouldn't you, you know," Eirik began, gesturing towards her hood.

"No, I'm safe here," Serana said. "The proprietor, that's him behind the bar, he's a friend of mine. He won't let anything happen to me."

"Sounds impressive, considering the things you have a tendency to get yourself into," Eirik said, at which Serana chuckled slightly. While Eirik waited for his food, he looked around at the other patrons. There was a general drone of unintelligible conversation which seemed to lull him into a haze as much as the roaring fire upon the hearth nearby. But he also realized something else about this inn.

"Where are the bards?" he asked. "Why is there no music?"

"The proprietor hates everything frivolous, it seems," Serana replied with a smirk. "Mimes, minstrels, actors, acrobats, jugglers, troubadours, tumblers, flutists and jesters. When this place is empty, it's almost as quiet as a tomb."

Eirik groaned. This seemed to be as boring as the inn in Morthal, where the only bard was an orc who couldn't sing. After a short while, their food arrived. Eirik tore apart the bread with his bare hands and dipped it ravenously into the bowl of stew which he ate vigorously.

"You must have been _really_ hungry!" Serana exclaimed with a slight chuckle.

"Aye," Eirik gasped after swallowing. "They didn't feed me in the dungeons of Solitude. Speaking of which, how did you find me?"

"I was out hunting," Serana replied. "When I came across your body lying out in the middle of a road at the bottom of the Kilkreath Mountains, dressed in rags and without weapons or armor. You have a habit of coming into my care at your weakest, Eirik. First it was your sword hand and now this? I mean, if anyone should be asking questions, it should be me. How did you end up in the middle of the road? And what's this about the dungeons of Solitude? I thought we were past that!"

"It was Crixus," Eirik said, placing the hunk of bread in his hand aside. "He betrayed me."

"Are you sure?" Serana asked. "I mean, I know he can be rough around the edges and he doesn't exactly like you, but betrayal? He's had plenty of time to do that if that was really his aim."

"There's no mistake this time," Eirik replied, shaking his head. "He had me locked below deck in his ship and the next thing I know, Imperial troops are swarming the ship and have got me bound and gagged and hauled off to the dungeons of Solitude."

"How did you escape?" she asked.

"A Dunmer priestess of Azura," Eirik repeated. "She stole the keys to my cell and showed me the way out."

Serana smiled. "You certainly seem to be beloved by whatever gods there might be."

"I thought you didn't believe in the Nine," Eirik queried.

"Just because I don't go into temples or near shrines," Serana retorted. "Doesn't mean I refuse to believe they exist. Still, you seem to be blessed. Because not only did I find you, I found someone else who can confirm your story. Though I didn't find them in the same way that I found you. They were kind of dropped off at our door-step. Literally."

"Who?" Eirik asked.

"Just finish your food and we'll go see," Serana replied.

Eirik ate in quietness and Serana ate nothing as she watched him or gazed at the other patrons. He did not resist a second helping of the food. As he was finishing off a tankard of ale, Serana told him that it was time for some answers. She offered to help him up to the upper rooms, but Eirik dismissed the offer. His strength was returning and he felt ready to kill a dragon if it should perchance to suddenly drop out of the sky. As soon as he drained his cup, he followed Serana up the stairs to the upper rooms. She led him to a room near the back end of the inn and opened the door. Inside Eirik saw a figure clad in grey robes and another in the robes of a mage. Serana, bringing up the rear, closed the door on them and the mage stood up from where he was sitting. As soon as Eirik saw him rise up, taller by half a head, he began to worry. His fears were increased when the mage turned around and revealed his sallow face.

"What the hell is this?" Eirik asked. "What is _that_ doing here?"

"Peace, master barbarian," an elderly voice replied. "I am not with the Aldmeri Dominion. My name is Calcelmo and I serve Jarl Igmund as court mage in Markarth."

"Still, you're a high elf, aren't you?" Eirik retorted. "You're one of those types who think you own all of Tamriel, that our culture, our traditions, our faith, even the Empire, are only good because the elves created them, isn't that so?"

"I cannot change the truth," Calcelmo replied. "Therefore I have dedicated my life to uncovering the secrets of the past. I am here at the request of our mutual friend who sent me here to examine Lethia."

"Examine who?"

"This one," Calcelmo gestured to the one in grey. "I should thank you and our mutual friend for this. It will be a great help for my work."

"And what work is that?" Eirik asked suspiciously.

"I am an archaeologist," Calcelmo began. "Oh, but I forget myself, you probably don't even know what that means. In layman's terms, I study the ancient Dwemer ruins that are scattered across Skyrim's landscape. But I have other interests, including a translation codex on the language of the Falmer. For this latter work, Lethia has been most helpful."

The grey-clad figure turned around and Eirik saw once again the pale blue face of the Snow Elf Crixus had saved from death in the Forgotten Vale in the west. When her blue eyes fell upon Eirik, she let out a string of words which, though Eirik knew not what they meant, he could tell that they were not pleasant words at all.

"What is she saying?" Serana asked.

"She's saying, 'This one has to go,'" Calcelmo translated, gesturing to Eirik. "She says he'll kill us all."

"Tell her I won't," Eirik ordered. Calcelmo spoke to the Snow Elf Lethia in a slow, measured version of words in the same language that she had spoken. After he had finished, she retorted with a longer trail of angry words.

"Now what?"

"She says, 'All you people know is killing,'" Calcelmo translated. "She's asking 'Where is the other one? The ugly ape this one made carry me. Where is the kind slave?'"

"Tell her to cut it with the insults," Eirik said, clenching his teeth. "We're not her slaves, none of us are!"

Calcelmo translated Eirik's words and Lethia answered in a hesitant tone.

"She says that she does not understand," Calcelmo said. "All men are slaves to the mer. She asks that you answer her immediately or she will have you killed."

"Are you sure you're saying the proper words to her?" Eirik asked.

"It would be immoral to perjure the truth," Calcelmo replied.

"You know what I'm saying!" Eirik retorted, anger rising up within his throat. "How do I know you're saying exactly what I'm saying? You could be telling her things that I'm not actually say..."

But before Eirik could continue, the elf cried out and rose up from the bed. She turned to Eirik and he saw that her eyes were not blue but white. When she spoke, it was strange to Eirik because she spoke in the common tongue, in words that he could understand: and she spoke directly to him, not to Serana or Calcelmo.

"Go, little man," she said. "Fight your wars. Auri-El, whose dreams unravel the fabrics of time and who has seen the end, has decreed it. All your strength is in vain. The Aedra have forsaken the Adopted: but the cry of the oppressed, the Changed Ones, will be heard. Let this defeat be the first of many to come for your kind: slavery shall return as the birthright of the race of men and after three thousand years have expired, the Brass God shall return and _all_ shall fall!"

No sooner had she spoken when she staggered back, massaging her temples. Eirik asked her what she had said and why, but she railed on him in her own tongue which he did not understand. Calcelmo helped her back to her bed while Eirik pushed open the door and left the room, Serana in tow after him.

"What just happened?" Serana asked. "I've never seen her act like that before. I mean, yes, she said some nasty things about me, but that can be excused. I'm not only a vampire, I was human. But what was all that she was talking about about the Changed Ones and the Brass God?"

"I don't know," Eirik replied.

Moments later, Calcelmo appeared from the room, a concerned look on his face.

"How is she?" Serana asked.

"She's resting comfortably now," he said. "But I know very little about this, I'm not a healer. I'm more intrigued about what she said."

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"Oh, surely you barbarians have traditions of prophets," Calcelmo replied. "According to my research, the Snow Elves, which many call Falmer, were once very religious. Serana here told me about a temple in the Wrothgarian Mountains which you and Crixus visited earlier this year. It is rather intriguing to say the least, however my own work is based primarily..."

"Are you saying that she's a prophet of some kind?" Eirik asked.

"Well, really!" Calcelmo exclaimed at being interrupted.

"What did she say just now?" Eirik asked. "What was she talking about, about the Changed Ones and the Brass God?"

"Well, that's no secret!" Calcelmo chuckled. "The Chimer, the elven race living in what is called Morrowind today, were referred to as the 'Changed Ones.' Although these days they are called 'Dunmer', the dark elves. As for the Brass God..." Calcelmo paused for a moment to stroke his short white beard pensively. "...curious. This has not been talked about openly since the last era!"

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"The Brass God is another name for an ancient Dwemer artifact," Calcelmo began. "A massive animunculus, similar to the ones found in the ruins of the Dwemer cities."

"Just that?" Eirik asked again. "I've been inside Dwemer ruins, there's nothing really that important there. At least nothing that would come close to being considered godly."

"And what did you see in these Dwemer ruins, hmm?" asked Calcelmo. "Automated defenses? Perhaps the fabled Dwemer centurion? The Numidium was even greater than a legion of Dwemer centurions. Some say that the mystery of the disappearance of the Dwemer was tied up in this artifact."

"Was?" Eirik asked.

"It was destroyed," Calcelmo replied. "Twice, in fact. Once by the Underking during the reign of Tiber Septim the Elf-killer and again in the so-called Warp in the West. Lethia must have been mistaken with what she said; there's no possible way the Numidium could return. Though why she spoke common suddenly I do not understand. If she was indeed a Falmer, she would not have been able to speak since birth, or at least know no language other than her own."

"You said there is no possible way for the Numidium to return," Eirik interjected. "Why is that?"

"Because it was built by the Dwemer," Calcelmo replied. "And they have long since disappeared from off the face of Tamriel. Some don't even believe that Yagrum Bagarn, the Last Dwemer, still lives in Morrowind. It has been centuries since the Nerevarine encountered him in Tel Fyr and it is likely that he was buried in the eruption of Red Mountain or slain in the Argonian invasion."

Calcelmo dismissed himself and returned to Lethia's room. Meanwhile, Eirik turned to Serana who held him under her gaze for a good long while.

"You're not going to go all insane about this prophecy like my father did, are you?" she asked. "I mean, come on, there's nothing really to believe about it. You heard what Calcelmo said: this brass god thing can't be rebuilt without the Dwemer and they're nowhere to be found. Besides, she said that all of this was to happen thousands of years from now." She placed a reassuring hand on Eirik's shoulder.

"If anyone should be worrying about this prophecy," she said. "It should be me. I'm more likely to live that long than you are, but you see that I'm not upset about it. So don't worry. Your children's children's children will be long since dead and buried before this comes to pass, if it ever does."

Eirik nodded wordlessly. Serana smiled.

"What?"

"There's more that I wanted to show you," she said. "The second part of what I wanted to show you. Remember when I said this person was dropped off at our doorstep?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe I'll let her tell it," Serana said. She led Eirik down the hall to the other end of the inn, nearest the shore. Just outside they could hear the endless crash of waves upon the rocks of the shore and the howl of wind through the cracks in the wood beams. Serana opened the door and suddenly Eirik saw someone standing in the doorway of the room which caused his face to break out in a wide smile.

"Lydia!"

"My thane!" The huscarl threw her arms around Eirik's shoulders in a warm embrace and did not release until she saw Serana looking at them with one eyebrow cocked.

"Forgive me," she suddenly said. "I've overstepped my boundaries as your servant."

"You're more than a servant, Lydia," Eirik replied. "You're like a friend, more like family!"

"I'm honored to see you again," said Lydia. "I thought I would never see you again after what happened."

"On the ship, aye," Eirik said. "Crixus betrayed us."

"He did?" she asked. "I knew he wasn't trust-worthy."

"But what happened to you?" he asked. "I would have thought they'd have captured you as well."

"They knocked me out and threw me into the cargo hold," said Lydia. "When I woke up, Crixus had me thrown off the ship. We were here in Dawnstar by then, I guess he thought I wouldn't be of any help in rescuing you."

"You got here before me?" Eirik asked. "Have you seen Mjoll? Please give her my apologies that I wasn't there to see her at the dock." He saw that Lydia's face became grim when he heard the name of Mjoll. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, my thane," Lydia replied morosely. "I searched the whole town the moment I got back. All I've heard was that she went south, to the Tower of Dawn on the hill overlooking the town and the sea, accompanied by a priest of Mara. They said she did not come back down."

Eirik sighed worriedly, passing his hand over the right side of his face. He could feel his fingers trembling beneath his face.

"I wouldn't worry about her, Eirik," Serana spoke up. "I've seen her fight. She can handle herself."

"She's right, my thane," Lydia added. "Perhaps she just went back to Riften or Breezehome or maybe Lakeview Estate or something. She's a strong woman: there's no need to fear the worst."

"If only it were that easy," Eirik replied.

"Well, I have something else to take your mind off this," Lydia said. "Apparently we weren't as careful in our escape from Whiterun as we thought, my thane. Someone in Whiterun noticed our departure and where we went. They sent this letter to you." Lydia removed from her bosom a letter sealed in crimson wax.

"To me?" Eirik asked. "Why do you have it, then?"

"The courier was told to give it to either you or me," said Lydia. "Obviously I'm well-known in Whiterun, so he knew my face."

Lydia handed the letter to Eirik, who examined the seal. It was the horse-head, the emblem of the Hold of Whiterun. Breaking the seal, he held the letter up to a candle nearby on a table. Here is what was written thereon.

_To Eirik the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun_

_Your Jarl has requested your immediate return to Whiterun._

_Eight be with you,_

_Hrongar, Jarl of Whiterun_

"It's a trap," Lydia said as soon as Eirik finished reading the note. "We just left that place as it became a haven for Imperials. We can't go back there."

"We have to," Eirik said.

"What?" Lydia exclaimed.

"I'm the Harbinger of the Companions," Eirik replied. "The ones I appointed as their leaders are on Solstheim. I need to make sure they are well."

"They can survive without you!" Lydia retorted.

"I have a duty to them," Eirik said. "I must honor my obligation to the Companions as their Harbinger."

Lydia sighed. "I still think this is a bad idea. But, as your huscarl, I am sworn to your service. I've got your back, my thane. Wherever you lead, I am sworn to follow."

Eirik turned to Serana. "And you?"

"Now just a minute here," Serana retorted. "I've done more than enough by even talking to you. You know who I work for now and Crixus has told you, doubtless, that many have performed the you-know-what against you. We're supposed to kill you on sight and I've more than risked myself by talking to you and saving you from the night."

"But you're a vampire!" Eirik exclaimed. "How can you be at risk from anyone?"

Serana leaned in and whispered into Eirik's ear. "They have another vampire with them. If they want to kill me, it's more than within their power to do so." She stepped back and cleared her throat.

"You'll have a long way to go this night," she said. "And you've slept the day away already. I say you go now as soon as possible before the proprietor remembers who you are. That is, if you're rested."

"Aye, I'm rested." Eirik said.

* * *

><p>All that night Eirik and Lydia rode from Dawnstar southward into the snowy cold of the Pale. They had little gear to say, for Eirik had not received his gear from the dungeons of Solitude and was unarmed. Lydia also had been thrown off the Red Dog without taking their winter clothes and so they had to go forth clad in nothing but their cloaks. They rode slowly, for while the horses were fit for traveling across long distances in snowy land, the two had to bear torches to guide them on their path.<p>

By morning's light, they had crossed the snows and the light of day was upon them as they reached the northern border of Whiterun. Here they had to rest for the journey by night was tiresome and they rested little in the ever-winter cold of the Pale. Their rest was brief and then they mounted up and galloped on to Whiterun. They reached the stables and hitched their horses up, with Lydia paying for the use of the stables. Then they made their way up to the gates of Whiterun on foot. While they walked up the hill, Eirik kept his eyes on the walls of Whiterun. There were Imperial soldiers on the walls, all of them armed with bows. If they wanted to kill them, they had the perfect chance to do so. They came up to the gate, which was sealed, and were approached by an Imperial soldier.

"Halt, Nord!" he said. "What business do you have in Whiterun?"

"I am the Thane of Whiterun," Eirik answered. "I am answering the summons of the Jarl."

"Do you have authorization papers?" the soldier asked.

Lydia handed the letter to Eirik and he handed it to the soldier. The soldier looked it over and then handed it back to Eirik.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said. "Welcome back to Whiterun, thane."

The guards opened the gates and Eirik and Lydia made their way swiftly into the town of Whiterun. It seemed a lot less active than how he usually knew it. There were Imperial soldiers, no fewer than two, patrolling up and down the streets. The sound of hammering from Adrianne's forge was heard as they passed it by and Eirik saw several Legion troops standing in wait by Warmaiden's. They turned left into the Wind District, where most of the houses of the rich and influential were to be found in Whiterun. As they passed through the boughs of the Gildergleam, Eirik saw a blank altar which had once held the statue of Talos. Instead there stood a stocks in which a large Nord was held. On either side were two Imperial soldiers.

"Move along, citizen," one of the soldiers said as he noticed Eirik looking his way.

"Who is this man?" Eirik asked, gesturing to the one in the stocks.

"No one," the soldier replied. "Just another drunken Nord hiding out in the Bannered Mare."

"Hey, I know him!" Lydia spoke up. "That's Sinmir!"

"What is his crime?" Eirik asked.

"He's a Nord, what crime does he _have_ to had committed?" the soldier replied. "As it was, he started a fight in the Bannered Mare after he said that the Empire is the lap-dog of the Aldmeri Dominion. Stupid Nord! What the rebels like to forget is that the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim."

"Yes, that's right," a haughty voice spoke. A female high elf dressed in the robes of a Thalmor justicar, approached the stocks. She turned to Eirik, looking down her nose at Eirik from her height.

"Ah, you're the thane of Whiterun, I presume," she said. "I trust you're on your way to meet with Jarl Hrongar?"

"How do you know?" Eirik asked.

"We know everything that happens in Whiterun," the elf replied. "As it turns out, I'm going that way myself. I trust to see you arrive there promptly. Jarl Hrongar would not like to be kept waiting."

The Thalmor walked on towards Dragonsreach while Eirik and Lydia followed on after her. As they passed the archway leading into Dragonsreach, Eirik paused before entering as the guards let the Thalmor agent pass.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Lydia said. "Thalmor agents in Whiterun? It's like a nightmare! Why don't we just run down to Jorrvaskr and see to the Companions? That's why you're here, isn't it?"

But Eirik said nothing as he approached the great oaken doors of Dragonsreach. They were pushed open and Eirik saw, waiting for him, the hall of Dragonsreach filled with people. The two great tables on either side of the fire-pit were filled this day with people eating and drinking. On the right table Eirik saw Vignar Grey-Mane, Eorlund Grey-Mane of the Companions, his wife Fralia, and the young woman Olfina whom he had met previously when Fralia asked him to find her son Thorald. On the left table Eirik saw a large family with five people. There was an old man who was eying Vignar and Eorlund with hate and his equally old wife at his right-hand side, glaring at those on the other side of the table. Down from her was a Nord clad in the armor of the Legion with long golden hair, a dagger-like beard and a mustache with twirled ends. He would not even look at those across from him. Next to him was a woman who was minding a timid-looking child. At the end of their table was another blond man, but he seemed to be looking across the table at Oflina Grey-Mane, though his eyes were not filled with any anger or hate.

"Welcome!" a loud voice greeted from the farthest end of the hall. There, on the throne of Whiterun, sat Hrongar, the new Jarl. He wore fine clothes and a circlet of gold upon his nearly-bald head and had a goblet in his hands. He gestured to Eirik that he approach the throne and so he did, eying the side walls of the hall, lined with Imperial guards. But as he was near the throne, Irileth the Dunmer huscarl appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

"Hello again, Irileth," Eirik greeted.

"I'll have to ask you to lay down your weapons," said the elf.

"But I have no weapons," Eirik returned.

"She does," Irileth gestured to Lydia.

"Come on, Irileth," Lydia retorted. "You know me. I won't cause any trouble."

"That's not for me to decide," the huscarl said. "It is the new law of the hall. None shall carry weapons in the Jarl's presence save for his personal huscarl and the Imperial soldiers guarding the hall. Surrender your sword and your shield to me now, or I will have you hauled off to the dungeon."

Eirik sighed quietly then turned to Lydia. "Do as she says."

Lydia reluctantly relinquished her sword and shield as Eirik approached Jarl Hrongar. At the side of the throne, Eirik saw the Thalmor justicar standing to Hrongar's right hand.

"Dragonborn," he said. "It is good that you have arrived here on this auspicious day. I see that my message reached you in time."

"I want you to know," Eirik said. "That, as your thane, I will not turn my sword against the people of Whiterun."

"That's good," Hrongar smiled. "In these desperate times, it is good that there are some who still value honor above all else. Please, sit down at the table with the Grey-Manes. You and your huscarl."

Eirik and Lydia stepped down from the dais and joined the table with the Grey-Manes. As they were waiting, Eirik saw Proventus Avenicci, the steward of Dragonsreach, walk out among the tables and, with a golden horn in his hands, poured mead for the Grey-Manes from it. Eirik saw that a goblet had been placed before him at his place, as well as before Lydia. As soon as Proventus had poured mead for all the Grey-Manes, Hrongar rose up from his throne.

"Friends," he began. "As Jarl of Whiterun, it is my great honor on this day, Tirdas, the eleventh day of Sun's Dawn, on the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, to welcome back the Grey-Manes and the Battle-Borns into Dragonsreach to raise the cup of friendship together."

There were no cheers from either end of the table.

"Today," Hrongar continued. "News has arrived from the front-lines. The Empire has besieged the city of Windhelm a second time. Gods willing, this war will soon be over. May we one day put behind us the memory of the horrible deeds which have torn us apart this past year."

Once more there were no cheers. Eirik looked at the Battle-Born table and saw the oldest man look suspiciously over at the Jarl. Suddenly Vignar rose from his seat.

"I for one find this invitation insulting," he said. "You've only called us here to mock us with this show of peace!"

"Shut up, you old fool!" said the old Battle-Born. "You know nothing of our suffering, of _our_ sacrifice!"

"Suffering? Sacrifice?" Fralia retorted. "You certainly seem rich enough, despite all your 'sacrifices!'"

"Shut up, b*tch!" the old Battle-Born woman retorted.

"Mother, please!" the blond man at the end of the table spoke up.

"Quiet, Jon!" the old woman retorted. "As long as I have breath, I won't stand to have these barbarians before us! Olfrid, my love, let us go! This is no place for decent folk like us!"

"Quite right, Bergritte."

"Silence, all of you!" Hrongar roared. All were silent. "Olfrid, my friend. I ask that you hold your peace. While this war has been very hard on us all, soon it shall be over and we will be united once again. When that happens, we must put such hatreds behind us. In fact, as a promise of things to come, I hereby name you to be steward of Dragonsreach."

"What?" Proventus suddenly spoke up. "My lord, why do you do this? Have I not provided faithful service both to your brother and to you?"

"I am Jarl of Whiterun!" Hrongar roared. "My will is law, and I say that you have been too soft. We need someone harder, someone...with honor. For that, the head of Clan Battle-Born is now the steward of Dragonsreach."

"I am honored, great Jarl of Whiterun!" Olfrid Battle-Born said, rising up from his seat and bowing in respect. "Long may your throne live in prosperity and honor."

The Battle-Born table rose up in cheers while those at the Grey-Mane table were sullen.

"This is madness!" Eorlund Grey-Mane shouted. "We will never stand for this injustice! Olfrid is made steward, but what is left now for Clan Grey-Mane?"

"A sword in your back if you don't shut up!" the familiar voice of Idolaf Battle-Born sneered. Eirik saw that he was the one wearing the Imperial armor.

"My father has every right to his opinion as you do," Olfina Grey-Mane spoke.

"You Grey-Manes have no right to anything, b*tch!" Idolaf retorted.

"Please, brother!" Jon spoke up. "Be honorable!"

"Yes, my husband," the woman at Idolaf's right spoke up. "We've gathered here to mend the old friendships. Surely a little courtesy..."

"Shut up, Alfhild!" Idolaf retorted.

"Friends, friends," Hrongar interjected again. "Please. This is no way to repair old friendships. Come, let us all drink the cup of friendship and be done with all this bitter hatred."

At this, old Vignar rose from his seat, with his goblet in hand.

"Hrongar," he began. "As the temporary Harbinger of the Companions, I cannot assume political preference one way or another."

"Just wait, Lars," Idolaf whispered to the child to his wife's right. "If he had his way, he'd have stabbed Balgruuf in the back and taken the Jarldom for himself."

Vignar continued. "My own thoughts on the war notwithstanding, I will say that, on behalf of the Companions, some of whom, namely my brother Eorlund, favor the cause of Ulfric Stormcloak, we thank you that the new regime has not interfered with the function and purpose of the Companions. We thank you that we have been allowed to work and fight unmolested, keeping to our own as we have always done and taking no side in this war. For this honor, I shall raise the goblet of friendship and drink to that. To the Companions!"

Hrongar cheered and rose his goblet. Eirik watched as Vignar drained his goblet, then reached for his own to do likewise when suddenly he heard the old man choking. He bent over and was grasping at his throat. Fralia leaped up from her seat and attended her husband. Eirik looked across the table and saw Olfrid Battle-Born looking on with thinly veiled delight as Vignar continued choking.

"Don't drink it!" Eirik shouted to Lydia, swatting away the goblet from her hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jon Battle-Born spoke up.

"What does it look like?" Hrongar asked.

Suddenly a soldier who had stood on the side of the hall, approached the Grey-Mane table and thrust his sword through Olfina Grey-Mane's back.

"No!" Jon shouted, rising up from his seat. Idolaf suddenly halted him by placing his sword against his throat.

"What's the matter, brother?" he asked. "Sad to see the Grey-Mane b*tch die?"

"Olfina was no b*tch!" Jon retorted.

"She's a Grey-Mane!" Idolaf sneered. "And you need to make a decision, brother. Either you're with us or you're with the rebels!"

"More Imperial lies!" Eorlund shouted. Behind him two soldiers approached with swords, ready to put an end to him. But he refused to go down without a fight. With arms honed over years spent smithing at the Skyforge, he struck the Imperial soldier down to the floor and drew out his sword, diving it into the chest of the second. Immediately more guards rushed to attack him and he fought them off one by one. But while he was fighting, a single soldier crossed over to where Fralia, in bitter lamentation, held her dying husband and slit her throat with his sword.

"What is the meaning of this...slaughter?" Eirik asked, turning to Hrongar.

"This is a new day for Whiterun," Hrongar said. "Those who are loyal to rebels and traitors must die a traitor's death."

"There is no honor in this!" Eirik said.

"How _dare_ you call _me_ dishonorable, rebel scum!" Hrongar ordered. "Irileth, seize him!"

Several soldiers gathered around Eirik and Lydia who, without weapons, could do nothing but stand and watch. Eorlund was fighting for his life but had taken too many hits to survive any longer. On the other side of the room, Jon Battle-Born was weeping openly while Alfhild Battle-Born was shielding the eyes of her son Lars. When Idolaf saw this, he turned to Alfhild and tore her hand away from Lars' eyes.

"He needs to see this," he said. "It is the only way he will become strong."

"He doesn't need to see death," Alfhild retorted. "He needs his father!"

"How dare you talk to me this way!" Idolaf retorted.

"Your son needs you, he doesn't need this senseless killing!" Alfhild reasoned. "Your son needs his father and you spend your days picking fights with Clan Grey-Mane and preening about Whiterun, proud of your father selling out to keep his name!"

Idolaf punched Alfhild in the face with his fist, sending her down to the ground.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to me like that, b*tch!" he roared. "It's your fault he's becoming a fucking milk-drinker, cowering away from little girls!"

But any other words were lost as suddenly Eorlund broke upon the guards surrounding Eirik and Lydia, cutting away at them with his sword. He was moving sluggishly and bleeding from the many wounds he bore. When he could fight no more, he threw his sword into one of the Imperial guards, then collapsed at Eirik's feet. His hand reached up for Eirik, who knelt down at his side.

"I'm here," Eirik said.

"The Companions..." Eorlund groaned. "They must...not...fall. Save them...for Kodlak...for Clan Grey-Mane..."

Eorlund Grey-Mane finally collapsed at Eirik's feet, the last of his blood on Eirik's hands. From the other end of the hall came clapping. Eirik looked up and saw Olfrid Battle-Born clapping and beaming.

"Well done, my lord!" he exclaimed. "It has been a long time coming. At last, justice has been served upon these heathens!"

"You were once friends with Clan Grey-Mane," Hrongar replied. "Do you not feel any sorrow?"

"Our friendship with Clan-Grey Mane ended," Olfrid stated. "When Eorlund and Vignar turned their backs on their Emperor."

"Fools!" Eirik shouted. "The Emperor is dead. Your Empire is in shambles, a slave to the Dominion. What has this blood-bath earned you save for the delight of Elenwen and those high elves in Solitude?"

"Lies, all lies!" Olfrid retorted. "The Empire is strong! You heathens must be purged from the Empire!"

"Long live the Empire!" Idolaf saluted, then turned to Hrongar. "My Jarl, let me run this rebel scum through here and now!"

"You raise your hand against the Thane of Whiterun?" Eirik asked.

"Not anymore," Hrongar said, turning to Eirik. "As of this moment, I have revoked your title and any land you might have possessed in Whiterun. You are no longer Thane of Whiterun."

"How are you going to escape out of this one, milk drinker?" Idolaf scoffed.

Eirik saw that escape was, at the best, impossible and at worst, suicide. There were at least thirteen guards dead but seventeen still alive and armed, their blades aimed at him and Lydia. Irileth had her blade pointed at him and now Idolaf had drawn his sword and was making his way towards him. The gates of Dragonsreach were at least twenty feet away, but with the number of guards, there was no way he could possibly run that far before they got him.

"Hrongar!" Eirik spoke up. "If I am to die, may I at least say my last words?"

"I care not."

"This day, the eleventh day of Sun's Dawn," he began. "I swear by Ysgramor, by Ysmir and by Talos that I will not let this injustice go unpunished! Lydia, take my hand!"

"Kill him!" Idolaf shouted.

Eirik gripped Lydia's hand, remembered another moment at the summit of Apocrypha when this particular Thu'um had come in handy, and then shouted: "_Tiid!_" Everyone around Eirik and Lydia suddenly slowed down to a crawl. Without batting an eye, Eirik ran towards the door, keeping his hand on Lydia. There was not much time before the power of the Thu'um broke and everything moved normally, but there was just enough time. He had to get away, at least out of Dragonsreach. Whiterun had suddenly become very unfriendly.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I won't even say I'm sorry for this chapter. It will piss off the Empire-lovers, yes, but if there is anything to apologize for, it is for shamelessly ripping off the Red Wedding from <em>Game of Thrones<em>. I feel that somebody needed to die before the end, somebody important. Too few people died in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and this is, after all, war. People die in war. Yes, I picked Clan Battle-Born to be the ones doing it, but let's be honest, they're dicks only a little better than those damn Lannisters! Idolaf is a crappy father because he spends his time raging about "them damn Grey-Manes" instead of teaching his son to not be a wimp while his father Olfrid talks about the "suffering" and "sacrifice" of Clan Battle-Born, yet he seems pretty well off in his fine clothes and his lofty, prestigious position as one of the "greatest" families in Skyrim and apparently believes the anti-Talos Thalmor agenda so much that he considers Talos-worshipers to be "heathens". Not just rebels, heathens.)  
><strong>

**(Just in case anyone was wondering "you say you don't like the blurring of the lines between good and evil and yet you like _Game of Thrones_?" I'll be honest, i couldn't get into it on the first try. Yes, I tried reading the book as well as watching the series and kind of couldn't get into it. You know, the whole amoral characters as such. But then one post-Christmas vacation in Tahoe my brother and i are in the hotel room and we have HBO and i gave _Game of Thrones_ a second try. I think the Mad King's daughter Daenerys is interesting because she is a realistically strong character [her strength is not out of place, like we see in EVERY movie these days where the female lead just _has_ to be a warrior woman] and Jon Snow is the closest thing to an actually moral character [which, my guess, is why people hate him and think he's boring and say that he "knows nothing"]. And even though he's one of them damn dirty Lannisters, Tyrion is fun because of his intellect and debauchery [plus, he gets to slap Joffrey like the b*tch he is!])**


	23. The Great Schism

**(AN: One two three, guess what my next two words are going to be in the author's note? If you guessed "my brother", you are right! You win 100 gold [minus the Jarl's tithe] and the Heart of Lorkhan...use responsibly! Well, while typing the last chapter last night, my brother found out about what I was doing and he was pissed...mostly because I had Hrongar be all pro-Empire with his ruling of Whiterun. Um, he is. In his dialogue in-game, it is made clear that he does not agree with Proventus and believes that Whiterun's neutrality is a bad idea, that Balgruuf should be fighting the Stormcloaks. While he does not become Jarl in the game, that was cut content and so it is in the realm of semi-canon. I also feel like I shouldn't have to explain why Lethia hates Nords. Ysgramor drove out the Snow Elves from Skyrim, so obviously she's going to hate Nords. There is, however, one last Grey-Mane who is not dead. Well, there are two but the second one won't live very long [his death is told but not shown]. So it is possible that Clan Grey-Mane might survive. However, there is something very big happening in Whiterun, one that will see Eirik once again dealt a bad hand by fate.)**

**(Oh yes, welcome back, _Dany le fou_! Your absence has been noted and your review is quite welcome. I did kind of over-emphasize Ulfric's Unrelenting Force, call it artistic license if you will. But as far as knowledge of the Voice goes, Ulfric is only proficient in that one Shout in particular [if you believe the rumors, he also has Dragonborn Force which he used to shout Torygg apart], whereas Eirik has a plethora of Shouts from which to call [so far I've used Unrelenting Force, Fire Breath, Drain Vitality, Odahviing, Durnehvir, Dragonrend, Call of Valor, Clear Skies, Dragon Aspect, Bend Will, Cleanse - the one I invented cure Lethia - Whirlwind Sprint and Slow Time, and those are the only ones I can think of right now!]. So while Ulfric can shout people apart, Eirik can summon and ride dragons.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The Great Schism<strong>

In a blur, Eirik and Lydia had vanished from before the Hrongar, Clan Battle-Born and the soldiers in Dragonsreach. By the time his Thu'um had worn off, Eirik and Lydia were sloshing towards the back entrance of the Hall of Jorrvaskr. After they broke out of the doors of Dragonsreach, Eirik had leaped into the pool of water that shared the Cloud District with Dragonsreach, taking Lydia with him. Now they were both dripping wet as they made their way into Jorrvaskr, the Hall of the Companions. As soon as the door was thrust open, the Torvar the drunken Nord Companion swayed slightly in his seat.

"I must be more thought than I drunk I was!" he slurred, turning back to his tankard.

"Shor's bones," a Nord woman's voice said venomously. Eirik saw Njada Stone-Arm, a Nord Companion dressed in leather armor, with two others at her left and right. One was Ria, a small Colovian who was relatively new to the Companions, and the other was Athis, a Dunmer with flaming red hair. "You have some nerve showing your face in Jorrvaskr after what you've done."

"Njada," Eirik replied. "Please, now is not the time for this."

"You're a disgrace to this hall and a pox upon the Companions!" Njada retorted. "Was it not only last year when this milk-drinker walked into our hall and was permitted to eat, drink and fight with us? And what has become of it? Skjor is dead, Kodlak is dead and where are Vilkas, Farkas and Aela? Are they dead as well?"

"No," Eirik shook his head. "They are safe."

"You lie!" Njada retorted. "I can see it in your worthless brown eyes, milk drinker. They're not safe, are they? So tell me, how many more will die under your rule? Me? Ria? Athis? Torvar? Eorlund?"

"I'm not a ruler!" Eirik retorted. "I'm just the Harbinger."

"Who's very presence in this hall has led the Companions to misfortune," said Njada.

"Listen," Eirik began. "I won't trouble you any more. I need armor and a sword, that's all."

"And you thought you would get them if you just asked?" Njada retorted.

Just then, the doors of Jorrvaskr were thrust open and in came a short-haired Nord man out of breath with his clothes stained with blood and a look of horror on his face.

"Brill, what's happened?" Ria asked.

"Clan Grey-Mane is dead!" he cried.

"What?!" Njada asked angrily.

"It's true," Brill panted. "They were at Dragonsreach...and they were killed off...one by one. Vignar's mead was poisoned...then the guards stabbed Fralia and Olfina...sent guards...to kill...Avulstein...but Eorlund...Eorlund..."

"Eorlund what?" Njada asked. "Speak up, milk drinker!"

"He's dead as well," Eirik sighed. "I was there as well. He fell fighting the guards after the culling began."

"Do you see what this milk drinker has done to us?" Njada asked, turning to the others. "His very presence has brought ill-fortune upon the Companions. Skjor is dead, Kodlak is dead, Vilkas, Farkas and Aela are missing and now we hear that both Eorlund and Vignar Grey-Mane are dead? If we let him stay with us anymore, it will be the death of the Companions!"

"I didn't ask to be made Harbinger," Eirik said. "I didn't even know that was on Kodlak's mind."

"The White take Kodlak!" Njada retorted.

"Njada, please be reasonable," the Dunmer Athis interjected. "We cannot lay blame on either Eirik for what happened in Dragonsreach."

"That's true," Ria interjected. "If Kodlak made him Harbinger, then we shouldn't be fighting amongst ourselves."

"One might say that at the very end," Njada replied, breathing heavily from her risen tone of anger. "That Kodlak fell from wisdom into folly. His choice, to make this milk-drinking outsider our Harbinger is an insult to us all and must not be tolerated! Think, my shield-brothers and sisters! Before he came, none of our brothers and sisters came to harm. And even after the death of Kodlak and Skjor, while _he_ was away, no harm came to us." She turned to Eirik.

"Besides, who's to say what Kodlak really said?" she asked. "There is no proof that you were chosen specifically by Kodlak to be our Harbinger. I name you a pretender and banish you from Jorrvaskr from this day forth. _I_, Njada Oddvarsdottir, called Stone-Arm, claim the title of Harbinger by might and seniority!"

"I don't think this is a good idea," Ria spoke up. "We should wait for the others to return and then put to a vote if an appropriate replacement should be made."

"If we wait, it may be too late!" Njada replied. "There is no guarantee that Farkas and the others will return and if we keep him here, we will invite death upon us all!" She then stepped up to Eirik and then turned to Athis, Brill, Torvar and Ria. "If there are any who wish to stay in this hall and earn valor, honor and glory in the name of Mighty Ysgramor, stand behind me."

Torvar stood up, wavered on his feet for a moment, then staggered over to Eirik's side, practically throwing himself onto Lydia's arms. He turned towards Njada, who was looking at him with disapproval.

"I like this one," Torvar slurred, gesturing with his thumb to the back door of Jorrvaskr hall. "He knows how to fight."

Njada laughed. "A drunk, a milk-drinker and his servant! You'll die within a day of stepping out of Whiterun!"

"Hey, wait a minute!" Ria spoke up. "Eirik's been nothing but friendly to us all, even to you, Njada. I still think we should wait for the others to..."

"There can be no more waiting, Ria!" Njada replied. "No half-measures. Either you're with me or against me!"

"I'm with the Companions, Njada!" Ria replied. "Just like you. My oath was to my shield-brothers and shield-sisters, not to one man or woman."

"There is no middle ground!" Njada stated. "Either you honor your oath to your shield-brothers with me, or you dishonor that oath with them!"

Ria groaned in what was clearly frustration but said nothing. With head hung low, she crossed over to Eirik's side. There were now four on Eirik's side and Njada had only Athis and Brill.

"Who is outnumbered now?" Eirik asked.

"Awake!" Njada cried out in a loud voice. "Rise up, Companions! The hall is under siege! Honor calls you to defend the legacy of Ysgramor! To arms!"

Within moments, the hall was filled with new faces whom Eirik had either not noticed or not bothered to meet. Most of them were Nords, but he saw a Bosmer, two Redguards, several Colovians and at least one Khajiit. Just how many warriors there were here Eirik guessed numbered at least thirty. Njada turned to those who had arrived from the bunks below the hall and lifted her sword into the air.

"Drive them out of the hall!" she shouted. "They are banished from this place, never to return on pain of death."

"Okay, I'm starting to wonder if this was a good idea," Torvar slurred.

"Let's be off," Eirik said. "We're unarmed and I know when we're not wanted."

"Yes, that's right!" Njada taunted. "Run away like the cowardly milk-drinker you are! No need to test your mettle against a real warrior! Go and cry into your woman's t*ts because a real Nord sent you packing out of Jorrvaskr like a whipped dog!"

Eirik turned about and walked out of Jorrvaskr, with Lydia, Torvar and Ria in tow. He made his way to the Underforge, where he along with Mjoll and Lydia had escaped from Whiterun just a few weeks ago. Aside from witnessing the wholesale slaughter of the majority of Clan Grey-Mane, he had also witnessed his only position as a leader stripped from him without even as much as a fight. Furthermore, his feelings of failure and inadequacy which arose in the dungeons of Solitude rose again. Not only was he going forward towards his doom, it seemed, and the doom of the human race at the hands of the Thalmor, he had failed as Harbinger and had his titles, both as Thane of Whiterun and Harbinger of the Companions, stripped from him.

"You were right, Lydia," he said. "This was a trap."

"So what's the plan?" Torvar asked, tripping over a pebble on the road and leaning heavily on Eirik's shoulder.

"There is no plan," Eirik said at last. "Windhelm is besieged, the war will soon be over. I chose the losing side."

"Is that any reason to sulk, my thane?" Lydia asked. "Or did your youth growing up in Bruma leave you ignorant to the traditions of our people?"

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"A true warrior," Lydia said. "Fights on, even if his cause is lost. An eternity in Sovngarde is not earned on bended knee before an overwhelming host, but proud defiance against endless odds."

Eirik smiled grimly, then turned to Lydia. "You're right. Forgive me, Lydia, I...for a moment there, I forgot my heritage, the reality of my people." He turned to Ria and Torvar.

"We may lose," he said. "But we will_ never_ give in!"

"So?" Ria asked. "What _is_ the plan?"

"We wait for Vilkas, Farkas and Aela to return," Eirik said. "When they have returned, we will return to Jorrvaskr and judge who shall be Harbinger of the Companions."

"But can't we wait for them somewhere close to a battle?" asked Torvar.

"No," Eirik said. "I will not violate your traditions by forcing you to do battle in the civil war. If I wish to fight, then I will fight alone, and not under the flag of Ysgramor."

"Not alone, my thane," Lydia said. "You always have me with you."

"To the death?" Eirik asked.

"To Sovngarde and beyond!" Lydia replied proudly.

Eirik smiled. "Yes!" But just then, he happened to cast his eyes upward and saw Imperial guards rushing out of Dragonsreach. "Quickly, into the Underforge. We have to get out of Whiterun."

"And where will we be going, Harbinger?" Ria asked.

"Windhelm."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Short when compared to the last chapter, but I didn't want to type out another eight thousand word chapter. I actually considered doing this early on, having the Companions split, or at least adding more to their number, before I decided on what would happen in the previous chapter. I mean, we do lose two very important and strong characters "early on", so bolstering their numbers would be something that should happen. And before someone complains, no, Njada is a Nord and she doesn't hate Eirik because he is a Nord, but because she feels that he has brought the Companions nothing but harm.)<strong>

**(Some really good stuff happened, though that last line "To Sovngarde and beyond!" seems a bit cheesy in retrospect. It felt right at the time, considering that the two of them had technically gone beyond death [lol, Eirik had, at least, during the _Dawnguard_ portion of "The Dragonborn and the Lioness"]. Also, I realized that I referred to the dungeon in Castle Dour as the "dungeons of Solitude", which sound like some really cool DnD stuff right there. Yay, my interest in the story has risen! This will definitely mean more intent writing, though updates won't be as frequent since spring break ended.)**


	24. Siege of Windhelm

**(AN: One thing I want to say about the last chapter [and it has little, if anything, to do with my brother]. I actually started setting up some themes and conflicts in this story that will be resolved [hopefully] in this story. That's one of the reasons I got so enthusiastic about typing the last chapter, because I realized that I was doing something right. At least I hope I was.)**

**(And NOW is the complain about my brother section [well, i don't know anybody else who plays _Skyrim_ in real-life and my girlfriend just rolls her eyes every time i mention it]. Since at least one other of my reviewers is pro-Imperial, they will doubtless agree with him and love this chapter. My brother said that I'm being unfair to the Empire in that I made them out to be 'the bad guys' [all they ever really do is talk smack about Nords] and yet don't portray the Stormcloaks as drunken bandits. According to his belief, ALL rebellions are filled with opportunistic thugs who oppose the system and see the rebellion as a good way of getting out of justice, so naturally, all the Stormcloaks must be murderers, thieves, rapists, thugs, looters, vandals, arsonists, etc.)**

**(Thank you for all the reviews. It really helps get these chapters out swiftly. _quichwe10_, go back and read the chapters of this story which take place on Solstheim. And as for Thorald Grey-Mane, just read this chapter. _Dany le fou_, thank you once again. Balgruuf was deposed by Idolaf and Hrongar, who were going to start a coup of their own [it's featured early on, the whole rally in the market-square at night] when they heard that the Empire was mustering troops in Whiterun to "reinforce it" against the Stormcloaks since they believed the Stormcloaks violated the treaty and would attack here next since the "Stormcloaks" attacked Rorikstead which is in Whiterun Hold. So they made a deal with the Empire that they would let them in if they'd put Hrongar on the throne, since he is not neutral and would openly support the Empire. That's more inferred than plainly spoken, so I might just have to have a chapter where that gets fully explained or so. As for the Dark Brotherhood, I'm guessing it's just a contract since, as the DB-lovers would doubtless say, if Sithis wanted Eirik dead, he'd be dead. I feel that Eirik hasn't been through enough yet, but death is too much. And my brother would probably get pissed if I had Thalmor in High Hrothgar, because, despite the threat they pose, he is of the belief that they aren't as powerful as the game says, that they really don't have any influence outside of Skyrim and that the influence they have in Skyrim is overblown [he thinks the same way about Maven Black-Briar]. Oh well, on with the story.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Siege of Windhelm<strong>

Four people made their way out of Whiterun through the secret exit in the Underforge and carefully crept along the underside of the wall to the back-side of the stables. Two more horses were purchased and once again they rode as fast as they could eastwards. Eirik, Lydia, Torvar and Ria were once more on the run, going where Eirik had intended. Though, in truth, Eirik had little idea of what he would do if they arrived at Windhelm. He had no army with which to break the siege and half of those with him could not be allowed to engage in battle with either side. The only thing he had in mind was to charge the siege lines, shout them apart and ride towards the gates of Windhelm as fast as he could before he was cut down in a hail of arrows.

The day was young and they were able to make quite a bit of head-way over the land. By mid-afternoon, they had reached the snows of Eastmarch. Before them loomed the high mountains of Winterhold which formed the back-bone of Eastmarch Hold. High above they could see the peak of Mount Anthor, one of the highest mountains in the eastern range. But as they passed on eastward, they began to see signs of war. In the snow, there were many footprints that had not yet disappeared. So great was the number of foot-prints that discerning them was pointless. Though the sheer number of prints had obscured the type of prints, the four of them, even with as little tracking knowledge as they had, could tell where they came from and where they were going.

"Most of these are from the west," Ria stated. "I'm guessing they are from Dawnstar or Solitude."

"Hold on a second," Lydia added. She checked her horse, dismounted and led it over to another spot near where the road turned eastward. There she knelt down with one hand still on the reins of her horse. Eirik walked over to where she was kneeling.

"These ones are coming from the south," she added. "Probably from Riften."

"We'll have a fierce battle on our hands once we reach the walls of Windhelm," Ria said.

"You two aren't fighting," Eirik said.

"What?" Torvar asked. "I-I'm sorry, I'm not sure if I heard that correctly, I do have a damnable hangover. Maybe I didn't hear what you said."

"You heard me right," Eirik replied. "I won't violate the laws of the Companions. If I die, then you can go back to Njada and live in Jorrvaskr in peace and honor. There is no honor or glory at the end of this road. If we're lucky, a swift death and Sovngarde: if not, and it's likely we're not since we're fighting the Imperials, the end will not be one of honor."

Torvar and Ria mounted back up while Lydia walked over to Eirik.

"What is it?" he asked coldly.

"You don't have to do this," she said.

"Look who's talking," he added. "Just this morning you told me to charge head-long into Windhelm, crying 'Death or Sovngarde.'"

"Why not go looking for Mjoll?" Lydia asked.

"And where should I start looking?" Eirik turned about, eying his huscarl dead on. "Riften? Whiterun? Dawnstar? Falkreath? Four holds on the opposite ends of Skyrim, all of them owned by the Empire. There's..." He paused. "There's nothing I can do!"

"Well, don't abandon her!" Lydia replied. "At least do _something_!"

Eirik made no reply, but pulled himself back onto his horse. Lydia mounted up and followed after him, with the two Companions bringing up the rear. They rode on in tense silence, the only sound the cold winds from the east, the crunch of snow beneath their horses' hooves and a raven crying up above. After a while, Ria brought her horse along-side Lydia and spoke to her.

"Is he always like this?" she asked.

"Not usually," replied the huscarl. "He's usually a lot more level-headed about things. Now...something's not right if he'd rather charge to his death in Windhelm than go looking for his wife."

"Well can't you talk to him?" Ria asked.

"I can hear you back there," Eirik called back.

"We weren't saying anything, my thane," Lydia retorted.

Eirik shook his head but did not reply with words. He was too busy gazing at something that lay before him.

* * *

><p>As the others brought their horses up along-side his, they all could see what it was that caught his attention. Before them the mountains opened up and there looked gray and blue the sea, endlessly roaring against the rocks, while the gulls cried afar off. Below them the path wandered downwards towards the icy bay, which was suddenly swallowed up in a host of grey, black and crimson surrounding the mouth of the bay. Before the host were the grey walls of Windhelm, the city of Ysgramor.<p>

"At last..." he said to himself.

Faster than they had ever rode, Eirik and his comrades charged down the rest of the road towards Windhelm. The night was falling swiftly and he refused to be benighted ere he reached the gates of Windhelm. They rode on until the snow kicked up by the hooves of their horses swam about their knees. Swiftly the small host turned into a line of troops under the Red Diamond: the Imperial Legion. Eirik halted his horse at a hundred feet from the flanks of the Imperial siege camp and the outer lines of their armies. Those at the rear of the Imperial lines who saw their approach sent outriders to ward off what might possibly be another attack by the Stormcloaks.

"Follow me when you hear the burst of thunder," Eirik said, then kicked the flanks of his horse so hard that the horse bucked and reared up on its hind legs. Once the horse was back on all fours, it galloped towards the lines of the Imperial troops. No plan, no weapons, no armor, just one man against an entire army. The outriders came upon him but he did not even turn aside to notice them, holding onto the reins as his horse charged straight for the enemy lines. Just as the Imperial troops noticed that a rogue rider was coming from the rear, those troops in the rear turned to defend. But Eirik had a plan. Leaning aside, he looked towards the Imperial lines and shouted: "_**Fus...Ro**** Dah!**_"

Having gone so long without using his Thu'um, the sound of his voice startled even himself as he saw the Imperial troops being scattered like wind before him. It was indeed like the roar of thunder, sending snow, rocks, men and horses flying from before him. The power flowing from within through his Voice and mowing down all before him made Eirik feel alive again, as though he was once again doing what he needed to do.

Behind him, Lydia and the Companions watched as Eirik rode alone against the Imperial troops. Then there was the roar of thunder from the Voice and the lines broke, cleaving a path through the Imperial troops to just about thirty yards shy of the front-lines.

"Now that's what I like to see!" Torvar shouted, then kicked his horse into action, charging after the Harbinger. Behind him came Ria and Lydia, hoping to catch up to Eirik before the lines reformed.

In the gathering dark, all they could see were the torches of the Imperial lines. Here and there fires broke out where fire-pits and torches were knocked down and thrown into tents in the confusion following the use of the Voice upon the Legion. In their light Lydia and the Companions charged towards the rear of the front-lines, where Eirik was galloping through frenetically. Many of the soldiers in his way were throwing themselves out of the way of his horse, and those unlucky slow ones were trampled under-hoof. At last he came to the line of shields near the edge of the bay. He was almost out of the lines: a short gallop across the great stone bridge and Eirik would be safely inside the walls of Windhelm. But suddenly his horse reared up on its hind legs, unable to break through the shields from behind. He laughed at them, feeling once again the power of the Voice within him.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" he shouted.

The line of shields and pickets in front of them were thrown aside like chaff in the wind, falling helplessly into the mouth of the White River below. Again he kicked the shins of his horse and continued off towards the bridge. How long he would be able to go before they started firing at him he did not know. Behind him, however, he could hear the sound of horses and, quickly looking back, he saw Lydia and the others riding through the Imperial lines after him. He swore under his breath, but did not turn back to order them back. To pause even for a moment now would give the Legion an open target. Beyond, the bridge had only two points where he could be safe from their archers, but he could not trust on that alone.

On and on he rode down the stone bridge, the cold wind off the sea biting the right side of his face. So great were the winds that he closed his right eye against the bite, keeping his left eye trained on the bridge and the walls and, hopefully, the gate. He passed the second arch and, just under the shadow of the first arch, the one nearest the gate, he turned back. Behind him he saw Lydia and Torvar and Ria galloping swiftly towards him. But the Imperial soldiers had reformed ranks and their captains had given the order to fire upon the new-comers faster than Eirik had anticipated. Arrows began striking among them, many of them skittering harmlessly off the stones of the bridge.

Suddenly at the rear of the group, Lydia and Torvar's horses were shot out from under them by sure-fired arrows as they neared the second arch. Both of them fell onto the stone bridge as the horses writhed in pain. Swearing loudly, Eirik dismounted and ran as fast as he could between the first and second arches. Ria came riding after him, but he ignored her, instead running towards the others. The first he saw was Torvar, pushing himself onto his feet painfully.

"Can you walk?" Eirik asked.

"I think so," he groaned. "Damn! That horse was heavy! Feels like I broke my leg!"

Eirik then turned to his right, looking for Lydia and, to his horror, saw her lying against the wall of the arch. Running to her side, he saw that she did not move not recognize his approach and the side of her head was bleeding. He picked her up, wrapping one arm of hers around his shoulder, while he tried to make it through to the first arch, right in the way of the Imperial archers.

"Torvar!" Eirik shouted, holding out his left hand. "Hold onto me! I'm going to see if I can do this." As soon as he felt Torvar's filthy hand seize his own, he shouted once again. "_Wuld!_"

He passed between the second and first arches in what appeared to be a whirlwind, but at that moment, as he was slowing down, an arrow that would have skittered harmlessly on the pavement had he ran thither, struck him in the back just as he was coming out of his whirlwind sprint. He collapsed into the shadow of the first arch just as Ria turned around to see what had caused the sudden rush of wind. She got off her horse and tried to drag them into the shade, but, due to her small frame, was only able to pull Torvar to safety. Lydia was still not moving and Eirik could barely stand with an arrow in his back.

"Must..." Eirik groaned against the pain in his back. "Get...to the gate!"

"Help him!" Ria shouted to Torvar.

The Nord drunk took Eirik's arm onto his shoulder while Ria removed Lydia from Eirik's shoulders and the four of them limped or walked the rest of the way to the gate. Some of the Imperials continued firing, and they heard with terror the plunking of arrows in the water. Sooner or later they would start hitting something else. As they approached the gate, Eirik strained to lift up his head and speak as loud as painfully possible.

"Let me pass!" he shouted. "I am Eirik Dragonborn, son of Skyrim and sworn into the service of Ulfric Stormcloak! Let me pass!"

For a long period of time, the soldiers ran the news back and forth until at last someone behind the gates gave the order for them to be opened. They did not open all the way, for there was still a siege going on, but it was wide enough that a man could get through. As they did, Eirik called for help. Several Stormcloak soldiers appeared and helped drag them into the gate and behind the safety of the walls. As soon as they were thrown in and the guards collected the two horses that had survived, the gates were shut and on the walls above Stormcloak archers started taking shots at the horse company which some Imperial commander foolishly sent to capture the blockade runners. They returned to the safety of the shield line in tatters, having lost a third of their troop and not capturing the daring newcomers.

* * *

><p>"Alright," one of the Stormcloak soldiers said to the newcomers once the gates were closed. "You're inside. Now who exactly are <em>you<em>? We weren't expecting any reinforcements coming from the west."

"I am Ria of the Companions," said the young Imperial. "I...my lord, the Harbinger of the Companions, Eirik who calls himself Dragonborn, wanted to come here. Though, beyond that, I don't really have any idea."

"Dragonborn, eh?" the soldier replied. "I've heard stories about the Dragonborn. It's said that the Dragonborn is the greatest warrior of Skyrim, that he has the heart and soul of a dragon and can destroy them like the Tongues of old did. And who is this you bring with you? Some beggar with an arrow in his back. Hardly the likeness of a great warrior."

"You caught me...argh!" Eirik groaned. "At a disadvantage, kinsman. My sword and armor were stolen from me and I barely escaped the prison in Solitude with my life."

"Is that a fact?" the soldier scoffed. "But no true Nord would allow himself to lose his armor and sword, let alone be captured. A true Nord would sooner die than suffer the indignation of prison."

"Look," Eirik groaned. "We can discuss this later. Tell Ulfric that I am here! He-argh, shite! He will vouch for me."

"Is that right?" the Stormcloak replied. "A bold claim for a milk-drinker like you. If you're looking to waste his time, there are some fine cells in the Palace of the Kings that will be more than happy to accommodate the likes of you!"

"We don't need the Jarl," Ria retorted. "We need a healer, an alchemist! Quickly!"

"Find 'em yourself," the soldier replied.

"I will make certain," Eirik panted, gazing angrily at the Stormcloak soldier. "That Ulfric hears of this."

"Go ahead then, milk-drinker," he retorted, holding out his arms in a challenging gesture. "I dare you to squeal for him! I double dare you, elf-loving scum!"

Upset over this soldier's impertinence and angered more by reason of his hurt, Eirik swung at the soldier, staggering him with a blow to the head that broke the side of his leather helmet. Suddenly there were cries and more Stormcloak soldiers gathered around in a ring, cheering and raising their weapons as they kept back for the two brawlers. Ria, Torvar and Lydia seemed to be forgotten in the fray as a wounded Eirik tried to hold his own against a now enraged soldier. The soldier sent a kick to Eirik's groin, sending him sprawling to his knees, after which he began pounding fist upon fist onto his back until a large thing with a bear's head on his own came and pushed them both aside.

"What the fuck is this supposed to be?" a loud Nord's voice roared bear-like. "There is no honor in brawling with a wounded man, _and_ he is a kinsman!"

"Fuck you, Galmar Stone-Fister!" the soldier retorted.

"What did you call me?" roared Galmar.

"You heard me!" the soldier replied, holding his arms out in similar gesture of challenge.

"There is still a law in Windhelm!" roared Galmar.

"The fuck are you talking about laws, child-killer?" the soldier retorted. "We're rebels! There _is_ no law here!" All the soldiers around cheered.

"By Talos," roared Galmar. "There is still a law in this city and you will return to your post, kinsman!"

"Make me!" the soldier replied. "I dare you!"

Galmar struck the soldier down with his fist in one blow, then stepped on his neck with his boot, keeping him pinned as he looked up at the others.

"If the Empire saw this right now," he said. "They would be laughing their asses off! They'd take the city with this kind of behavior from you lot! If you want to live, you'll get back to your posts! There's still a war to be fought!"

Many of the soldiers were shouting threats and insults at Galmar as they parted, but the large Nord turned instead to Eirik and when he saw his face, he gasped.

"Shor's bones, you _are_ the Dragonborn!" he said. "I remember you from Ivarstead. What are you doing like this? Where is your armor? Your sword?"

"It's a long story," Eirik groaned.

"Well, then, there will be time to hear it all," Galmar stated. "But only once we've gotten you together. I'll send for Oengul and Nurelion. They will see you right. Once you're done, report to the Bloodworks in the Palace of the Kings and you can tell me the rest."

Galmar called for a soldier and told them to take Eirik to the White Phial in the market district as well as to wake Oengul War-Anvil from the Blacksmith's Quarters. Ria and Torvar, carrying Lydia, followed Eirik thither and soon enough they were inside the White Phial, an alchemist's shop run by a rather stuffy looking Altmer called Nurelion. Eirik would have protested under normal circumstances, but he was in too much pain, both from the arrow and from the brawl, to care much at the moment. As Nurelion began examining Eirik, he sent his apprentice, a Colovian named Quintus, to examine Lydia.

"Hmm," Nurelion mused as he examined Eirik's back. "An Imperial arrow. You really are as stupid as you look, trying to run the blockade." The elf suddenly coughed loudly, holding a handkerchief to his mouth as he did so. The young man Quintus came to his side, placing an arm around the elf's shoulders, but Nurelion swatted him away. "Still, the arrow's bite is not very deep. Yes, I don't think it will be fatal. Once we've gotten that arrow out and that brute Oengul has seared the wound, you should be fine." He turned to Quintus. "Fetch me a cloth." The young man nodded, then Nurelion turned back to Eirik. "Would you like a strong drink or perhaps a sleeping potion?"

"Mead," Eirik roared. "Fetch me mead. It's been too long since I've drunk anything with balls!"

"Typical Nord response," Nurelion sneered. "But it will do."

"What about my huscarl?" Eirik asked.

"It looks like a rather nasty blow to the head," said Nurelion. "I can bind the wound, maybe apply some poultices to stop infection, not that you'd know what that is, but whether or not she will survive is debatable."

"Gods willing she survives," Eirik breathed.

"If she survives," Nurelion retorted. "It won't be because of _your_ gods, it will be because of _my_ skill! Now still you still while I find some mead. This is an apothecary, you know, not a tavern!"

All too soon Quintus returned with a cloth, which was stuffed into Eirik's mouth as Nurelion seized the arrow and pulled it out of Eirik's flesh. Eirik roared into the cloth, biting it so hard that his teeth tore through the fabric. When at last Oengul, a bald elderly Nord with a grey beard, arrived with a red hot poker, Eirik closed his eyes and drank from the bottle of mead that had been procured for him.

"Hey, don't drink all of that!" Torvar interjected. "That's some fine 191 by the smell of it! Would be a shame to waste."

Before Eirik could finish the bottle, Oengul had thrust the poker into Eirik's flesh, searing the wound shut. He roared again, dropping the bottle and slamming his fist upon the wall near at hand. When at last the wound was closed, Nurelion began adding something that, while not nearly as painful as before, stung his back.

"Argh!" Eirik shouted. "What are you doing?"

"I have to clean the wound," Nurelion explained. "Then I'll apply linen bandages to keep out infection. It will be a while until you fully heal, so try to keep off your feet. Doubtless walking or any strong movements will cause you great pain." He turned to his apprentice. "Well, what are you standing there for? Bind that woman's head!"

Moments later, Nurelion had finished his worse and both Eirik and Lydia were bound: he about the middle of his chest and she about the head. Eirik could move though every movement above the waist caused him great pain. He then told them that it was late and he was a very busy man and that they should leave. With Ria carrying Lydia, Torvar and Oengul helped Eirik out of the White Phial and into the streets.

"Can you help us?" Torvar asked. "That bear-skin told us we're to go to the Bloodworks after here."

"That's to the Palace of the Kings, just north of here," Oengul replied. "You can't miss it."

"Thank you, Master War-Anvil," Eirik breathed.

"Which way did you come from?" Oengul asked. "If you don't mind me asking. It wouldn't happen to be from Whiterun, would it?"

"Aye, we did come from Whiterun," Eirik replied.

"Any news on Eorlund Grey-Mane's smith work?" asked Oengul. "They say he's the greatest blacksmith in all of Skyrim. Bah! I plan to change a few minds about that statement."

"Alas," Eirik said. "The hammer of Eorlund Grey-Mane will sound upon the anvil of the Skyforge in Whiterun no more. He is dead. All of Clan Grey-Mane is dead." Eirik paused for a moment to let those words sink in, as well as what Oengul had said regarding Eorlund. One of the greatest, if not _the_ greatest, smith in all of Skyrim was now dead.

Oengul paused and turned to Eirik. "Is this so? How did they die? Did Eorlund die in battle?"

"Aye," Eirik said, nodding his head. "He did, died fighting to protect his family as they were slaughtered before his eyes."

"Then may he forge the weapons of the warriors of Sovngarde for all time," Oengul sighed. "Thorald will want to hear about this."

"Who?" Eirik asked, the name slowly coming to mind upon hearing it again.

"Thorald Grey-Mane," said Oengul in reply. "He came here on the thirteenth of Morning Star last month and took the oath. He spends most of his time in the Bloodworks, that's the barracks, where Hermir and I take the weapons we make."

"Who's Hermir?" Eirik asked.

"That would be my apprentice, Hermir Strong-Heart," he replied. "She works the forge with me, though she'd rather be on the battlefield fighting for Ulfric Stormcloak, or in the Palace of the Kings sucking his..."

"I think I understand," Eirik groaned. "Can you show us the way to the Bloodworks? I'm told to report there..."

"I'll take you there," Oengul replied. "I feel that Thorald should know what has happened to his family."

"What about my huscarl?" Eirik asked, looking towards where Torvar and Ria held Lydia.

"Come along, then," he said to them. "The streets of Windhelm are not safe at night, especially these days."

"Why is that?" Eirik asked as he hobbled after Oengul, with the others taking up the rear.

"Well, this siege for one thing," Oengul began. "It started early this month, when word came from the outlying camps that the Imperial Legion were marching north and east. About nine days ago, we watched as a group bearing the Stormcloak colors and gear attacked the Imperial siege camps, disrupting their supply lines. They came to Windhelm and took up residence in the Bloodworks with the rest of the troops. Since then, it is hardly safe to walk the streets of Windhelm anymore. The newcomers pick fights with anyone, be it elf or man, and they loot when they can't get enough food for themselves.

"Four days ago, the Imperials finally closed the circle around Windhelm from the mountains to the bay. Three days ago they tried to take the city but suffered heavy losses. Our walls have stood since the time of Ysgramor, there is little that can bring them down. And the Empire had no siege engines. Yesterday, when they attacked again, they did. A fleet attacked from the sea while the armies on land fired volley after volley upon us. The Stone Quarter and the Grey Quarter are in ruins. Riots have been breaking out over food shortages in the city, and the dark elves in the Grey Quarter are restless."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Many in the city," Oengul continued. "Say that they're offering aid to the Imperials, or stealing from our food supplies. The guards are busy with the fighting and the riots that they tend to ignore whatever is going on down there, and it is making the elves agitated."

"As they should be!" a voice declared.

Near at hand they saw an old bald Nord with a long grey beard, dressed in leather armor with a heavy fur cloak wrapped about his shoulders.

"We're not here for a sermon, master Free-Winter," Oengul said. "This one is to report to the Jarl."

"Aye, the Jarl who cares nothing for his own people," said Brunwulf. "Is it any wonder the Dunmer balk at the persecution they receive at the hands of the bear? They've been walled up in the 'Grey' Quarter for far too long, treated like cattle! All of Skyrim was once the land of the elves, should we not open our doors to the Dunmer without condition or persecution?"

"That's all fine talk, master Free-Winter," Oengul interjected. "But you don't say nothing about the Argonians living on the docks."

"The lizard-people?" Brunwulf retorted. "It is better that they remain in the Argonian Assemblage. Too much bad blood between Dunmer and Argonians to allow them to live peacefully together."

"What about the cat-folk of elsewhere?" Oengul asked. "I suppose they shouldn't be allowed in Windhelm either, eh?"

"Go back to your anvil, war-mongering fool!" Brunwulf said. "The weapons you forge will do nothing to stop what is inevitable."

Brunwulf walked away while Oengul continued leading them to the Palace of the Kings. As they entered the courtyard, a group of soldiers appeared, led by Galmar Stone-Fist who had just recently returned from the front gates. When he saw Eirik, he nodded, then ordered the gates to be opened. They hobbled into the hall, which was filled with bear-skin clad captains and Stormcloak soldiers hurrying about the hall. Some were giving orders, some were carrying on at the banquet table and others were gathered about the throne at the back of the hall, where sat Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm.

"As I was saying," Oengul continued. "The elves have been restless ever since yesterday, when the second assault failed. We had more than a few ships of our own in the harbor and they were not expecting that: that's the good news. The bad news is that their ships dropped off another host which has joined with the besiegers. Now their numbers have swollen while ours have decreased."

"My lord!" Eirik cried out.

"Don't bother," Oengul replied. "He's busy. He has no time to speak with any of us."

"That's probably why Brunwulf Free-Winter was so upset," Ria pointed out.

Eirik sighed. "Fine. Just get me to the Bloodworks. I will speak with Ulfric later."

It was not difficult to find their way to the Bloodworks. Right of the banquet table they found a door leading downward from which quite a bit of loud noise was echoing therefrom: noise of song and revelry. Oengul placed Eirik against the door and then turned as though he would leave.

"You're going?" Eirik asked.

"The Bloodworks are no place for anyone in Windhelm these days," Oengul said grimly.

"You could have told us that before we came down here!" Torvar stated.

"This is where the rest of the soldiers are," Oengul said, gesturing to the door. "Those who aren't on duty. Not very many of them, but the new band take up berth here. I have to supply them with weapons and armor, since they've 'claimed' to be Stormcloak soldiers, so don't worry. I'll have Hermir come around with the weapons and see how you're doing. Gods be with you, kinsman."

Oengul departed as Eirik and the others made their way down into the Bloodworks. Eirik leaned against the wall as walking was still very painful for him. When they finally reached the barracks, what Eirik saw surprised and dismayed him both at once. From wall to wall there were Stormcloak soldiers, most of them not in uniform, drinking and singing and screwing the odd tavern wench here and there, many of whom Eirik had not seen in Windhelm the first time he had arrived. None of them looked like battle-hardened warriors, or even pretended to be alert and even more so, they were all Nords.

It took Eirik quite a while to find the one man among them who was roughly his own age but had silvery-white hair, whom he had remembered from Northwatch Keep. Having found him, he tried to make his way over to him. The press of people about him was thick and none of them particularly liked having someone butt into them. He had not passed a few feet into the hall when his face was splattered in beer.

"Piss off, milk-drinker!" a Nord cried.

"I'm a Stormcloak, just like you," Eirik replied. "I just mean to..."

The Nord mocked Eirik's words, eliciting loud roars of laughter from those at his table, then rose up to his feet, showing that he towered over Eirik.

"True Nords don't ask for nothing," he said. "They take it. So why don't you try and take some-fink from me?"

"I just want to pass," Eirik groaned.

"Then pass me," the Nord retorted. "I dare you, milk-drinker!"

While Eirik was trying to pass the large Nord, another had stepped over to Torvar and Ria and reached for Lydia.

"Wonder why this one's sleeping," he said. "Still, she's warm. Should be good for a ride or two."

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Eirik retorted.

"Well, what are you gonna do if I wanna, huh?" the Nord asked. "You ain't got no sword and I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Suddenly someone struck Eirik on the back of the head, sending him sprawling forward into the Nord blocking his path, who pushed him back into another who struck him in the back, right where he had been hit.

"You ain't nothin', milk-drinker!" one of the Nords shouted. "My wife hits harder than you do!"

"Come on, harbinger!" Torvar said to Eirik. "Shout them apart like you did the Imperial lines!"

"I can't take them all on," Eirik groaned.

"Of course the wee little milk-drinker can't," laughed another Nord, kicking Eirik in the groin. "Go back to your mother's t*ts, milk-drinker! This is a place for _real_ men!"

"Yeah," the first Nord said. "So what are you doing here, milk-drinker?"

"I'll send you crying back to your mother!" the second one said.

It all happened so fast. Someone pulled Eirik aside just as the second Nord took a swing at him, hitting the first one in the face and starting a fight. While those onlookers were now jeering and cheering each side on, having completely forgotten those they were assaulting, Torvar and Ria had managed to free themselves and Lydia from the fray as Eirik was being led towards the back of the hall. When he was finally thrown onto a bed, he saw who it was who had been his rescuer: a Nord roughly his own age with silver-blond hair and no beard.

"I remember you," Eirik said. "It's not been but a few weeks since Northwatch Keep, hasn't it?"

"Aye, that it has," said Thorald Grey-Mane. "I've been meaning to repay you for what you've done. A Grey-Mane does not forget his debts." Eirik looked into the crowd, trying to see if the others had escaped the fray. There was no sign of them and his wound was aching once again, so he remained where he sat.

"What brings you to Windhelm, friend?" Thorald asked. "Have you come to help the Stormcloaks?" Eirik sighed: though Thorald could not hear him sigh, he could see his face fall. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, my friend," Eirik said. "I bring you bad news."

"What could be worse than this?" Thorald asked. "We're besieged and Windhelm is overrun by thugs because we're outnumbered and any help counts!"

Eirik looked out upon those dressed in Stormcloak garb before him in the Bloodworks. Whichever of them were bandits or Stormcloak soldiers he could not guess. They were all reveling, drinking, laying wenches, fighting and singing. None of them seemed ready for a siege or even alert. The Imperial Legion were at least a little more alert and responded to his charge into their ranks, whereas the Stormcloaks seemed to be doing the exact opposite.

"I mean," Thorald continued. "We left our homes, risked death and certain imprisonment all because we believed that Skyrim should be free, that our destinies shouldn't be governed by some emperor hundreds of miles away in the south or even elves thousands of miles away in the west, and this is what we're greeted by? Half of the Stormcloak soldiers here are as bad as the bandits."

"You sound like you regret your decision to join," Eirik said.

"No, I don't regret it," said Thorald. "Ulfric has the right of it. Our people deserve a future free from elvish or Imperial oppression, but not like this."

Eirik lowered his head, unwilling to look upon his people before him behaving exactly as Crixus had predetermined. These were not elves, these were not Bretons, Khajiit or Argonians or Imperials, these were Nords, his own people. He could almost hear Crixus' mocking laughter ringing in his ears, hear his self-righteous, arrogant Colovian drawl say "I told you so!" His chest began to sting with pain, but it was not the pain of his wound. He felt stifled inside the barracks of the Bloodworks, as if all the sins of his people combined with the horrible news he had to tell Thorald was suffocating him. He was educated in Bruma, he knew of a better way than this to live.

"Let's go someplace quieter," Eirik said.

Thorald led Eirik down into the dungeons beneath the Bloodworks. As they were walking down, they saw three Nords in Stormcloak gear flailing a Dunmer woman's bare back with iron-tongued scourges. He pulled one of them away and turned to the others.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"This here dark elf needs to be punished," one of the Stormcloaks said.

"What crime has she committed?" Eirik asked.

"Heh!" the second one interjected. "Like them dark elves need to do anything to deserve a floggin'!"

"They've been stealin' our supplies," said the first soldier. "Takin' 'em away to the Grey Quarter and leavin' us with rotten food!"

"Where is your proof?" Eirik asked.

"We don't need no proof," said the third soldier, the one Eirik had thrown to the floor. "They're dark elves! They don't pay no taxes, they eat our food, come where they ain't wanted and refuse to help the Stormcloaks!"

"Find me proof of their crime," Eirik said. "And I'll scourge her myself. But don't punish her for no crime."

"Elf-lover," one commented under his breath.

"I would do the same," Eirik stated. "For any kinsman, were they in her position." Eirik hobbled over to the wall and unfastened the shackles from off the elf's wrists, freeing her.

"Do you need help returning home?" he asked.

"Don't touch me, snow-back!" the elf retorted angrily, snatching up her torn dress and walking out of the room, glaring at all of them with distrust in her eyes before leaving. The others followed her back out of the dungeon, saying something about there being fewer elf-lovers in the Bloodworks. Once the room was clear, Eirik turned to Thorald.

"You have nothing to say about this?" Eirik asked.

"The dark elves _should_ take a side in this war," said Thorald. "For almost two hundred years they've been allowed to live in Skyrim free of our laws and free of our responsibilities. Why should they be exempt from the war that affects everyone from Windhelm to Markarth?"

"I've seen the way they treat Nords in Blacklight and Solstheim," Eirik said. "It seems they hate us as much as we hate them. What do you say to that?"

"That if they join our enemies," Thorald replied. "Or declare war on us as Talos knows they've done in ages past, we should kick them in the arse as they deserve, not spend time whining over whether it's the right thing to do or not like those Battle-Borns."

"Yes," Eirik said grimly, nodding his head. "The Battle-Borns. That is part of the bad news I bring you."

"What have they done this time, hmm?" Thorald asked. "Idolaf and I grew up in the streets of Whiterun: I know his family members by name and while he might be happy to shout the Empire's elf-driven dogma with all those Imperial septims in his purse..."

"Thorald, your family is dead." Eirik spoke.

The five words he said seemed to shatter the air in the dungeons of Windhelm.

"What?" Thorald asked.

"I believe the Battle-Borns orchestrated it," Eirik replied.

"I-I don't believe you," Thorald returned. "I can't! I know Idolaf! He might be a sore loser and an opinionated bastard at times, but he's no murderer!"

"Oh, he didn't do any of the killing," Eirik said. "He sat by and laughed while your family died."

"How?" Thorald asked, his voice quivering with sorrow. "How did they die?"

"Vignar died first," Eirik said. "There was poison in his cup. The...Whiterun is in the hands of the Empire now, they had soldiers all over Dragonsreach. They must have been part of this, because one of the guards stabbed Olfina in the back, then they cut Fralia's throat. But Eorlund..." He made a sound that was part sigh and part proud laugh but sounded like a sob. "...he refused to go down without a fight. He took several with him but he was overwhelmed in the end."

Eirik could see the sorrow in Thorald's eyes. He did not even try to hide that tears were flowing down his face, slowing but surely. His hands also were shaking and, for a moment, Eirik knew how he felt. Guilt filled his person as he realized that, instead of looking for Mjoll upon returning to Skyrim and gaining his freedom, he had thrown himself haphazardly towards the thick of the war. He wondered how _he_ would feel if it was Thorald telling him that Mjoll had died.

"And Avulstein?" Thorald asked, his voice heavy with emotion. "Where is my brother?"

"I heard that he was killed by the guards as well," Eirik said.

Thorald did not even try to hide it as he broke down in tears. His entire family was dead, with himself being the last of Clan Grey-Mane. Without a second thought, Eirik walked over to Thorald and embraced him. Thorald buried his face in Eirik's shoulder and wept aloud. As Eirik began to realize that, for all he knew, Mjoll and their child might be dead as well for all he knew and that he had abandoned them, he broke down and wept with him.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Well, someone out there must hate me because now my brother's laptop has also died, which means i have no way of writing this story on my spare time, it HAS to be at either the library or the college [the library has a new computer usage time system which screws up writing at all, so meh]. Also, this chapter, while definitely your favorite, was not fun to write at all. It appeals to the Imperial fan-boys, yes, and will make them stop talking about unfair depictions, yes, but it has shot one of my points in the foot! The point being that people should be allowed to protect themselves from any threat, foreign or domestic, without being labeled a "bigot" just because. That's one reason I love the VikingDark Ages as well as high fantasy. But that is not the case with _Elder Scrolls_, particularly _Morrowind_ where Dunmer racism is totally acceptable but then in _Skyrim_ suddenly the Nords animosity towards the Dunmer is viewed in a negative light? Why? Because the Nords are white and therefore, as is the modern belief, white people are inherently evil. FUCK THAT SHIT!)**

**(-sigh- I've also tried to give Eirik some character development as far as what is happening in the story that doesn't involve pandering to my brother and the majority of you reviewers and tumblr _Skyrim_ fans. It will be resolved somewhat later on, so don't worry.)  
><strong>


	25. An Unexpected Turn of Events

**(AN: Okay, now that I gave you that chapter, here is the next big shock that I have planned.)**

**(I have a question for my reviewers in two parts. 1] have any of you read _The Hero with a Thousand Faces_ by Joseph Campbell? And 2] if you have, can any of you show me how the story of the Nerevarine and the Hero of Kvatch conform to the monomyth of Campbell's "hero with a thousand faces"? I had no trouble doing that with _Skyrim_, but i don't see how i can apply that to _Morrowind_ and _Oblivion_. Of course [and while i didn't have an open complaint about him, you knew this was coming] my brother didn't see the point in trying to fit everything into archetypes. Personally, it gave me a system by which i could successfully tell the story of the Dragonborn in "The Dragonborn and the Lioness", and i might be able to respect what was done in those two games if they were a bit more adherent to Campbell's model [but considering as how _Morrowind_ was written by Michael "fuck it" Kirkbride, it probably wouldn't adhere to Campbell's model at all])**

* * *

><p><strong>An Unexpected Turn of Events<strong>

Moments later, while both Eirik and Thorald were in deep sorrow, the sound of footsteps pounding down the steps into the Windhelm dungeons was heard. Turning, Eirik saw Torvar and Ria carrying Lydia with them and a young woman with dark hair clad in iron armor similar in fashion to that which he had seen Mjoll wear when they first met.

"Which one of you is the Dragonborn?" the young woman asked.

Torvar gestured to Eirik and the young woman approached him. Eirik saw that her face was dirty from working in the blacksmith's forge, as well as bore a few cuts and bruises from what he guessed was the chaos of the Bloodworks.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said. "Wounded as you are with your huscarl in this condition. Master Oengul told me to find you here, but you ran all the way to the dungeons!"

"I'm sorry," Eirik said, wiping his face of the tears. "I needed to speak to Thorald Grey-Mane privately."

"Well that almost cost me more than I'd want to say," the young woman said.

"Are you Hermir?" Eirik asked.

"Aye," she replied. "Master Oengul sent me to see how you fared."

"I'm still alive," Eirik mused. "But how did you know I am the Dragonborn?"

"We heard your Voice when you broke through the Imperial blockade," Hermir said. "Only one other person has that power, and he sits on the throne of Windhelm safe behind our walls. Though, to be truthful, _that_ cold stone chair is a disgrace to him! He should sit upon the throne of the High King, as is his right."

"Words alone won't put him there," Eirik said dolefully.

"But our steel will," Hermir added. "And that's what I intend to do by working with Oengul at the forge. Besides, I get to see Ulfric up close."

"Tell him we're well," Eirik said. "Or at least as well as anyone can be in this chaos. Now go and tell him that." But as Hermir was turning to leave, Eirik added. "I need weapons and armor. Do you have any with you?"

"No," Hermir retorted. "Those I had were for the brigands in the Bloodworks."

"Then tell Oengul to send me something," Eirik added. "A sword, a great-sword, and a suit of steel armor, nothing too heavy or cumbersome like those kettles they had two hundred years ago in Cyrodiil."

"Of course not," Hermir said. "Will there be anything else?"

"I suppose it's too much to ask for food," Torvar interjected.

"Actually, it is," Hermir retorted. "The siege has really taken its toll on us."

"Then go, be gone with you," Eirik said wearily. "I'm weary and need to sleep."

Hermir left and the five of them were left in the dungeons as an awkward silence fell between them all. Thorald said nothing but walked over to a corner where he secluded himself from the others. Torvar then went into the cells and brought out at least two blankets that were not lousy or thread-bare and gave them to Eirik and Ria to sleep on. Eirik walked over to Lydia and placed the blanket over her and then turned to Torvar, who was on his way up the stairs.

"You're going back in there?" he asked.

"That's where all the drink's at!" laughed Torvar as he disappeared into the Bloodworks.

* * *

><p>Night passed in Windhelm while Eirik, Lydia, Ria, Thorald and Torvar slept in the Palace of the Kings. Torvar had passed out after another lengthy binge of drinking in the Bloodworks, seemingly unharmed by the fray of brawling, while the others slept in the dungeons. When Ria noticed that Thorald was shivering, she gave him the blanket he had given to them while she slept near Eirik and Lydia in their corner of the dungeon. From Blacklight to Solitude to Windhelm, they were still sleeping in dungeons. While here they were more or less free, they were not at liberty to go where they would due to the siege.<p>

Throughout the night, Eirik had great difficulty falling asleep. His mind was filled with renewed fears over Mjoll's whereabouts as well as doubts over his own worth as the Dragonborn. All he had managed to do by coming to Windhelm was throw himself into a situation in which there could be no victory or even survival. Usually this would not have been an issue for him, but now that he had a life waiting for him, he wondered if it was right to throw himself haphazardly into danger? Even more so, he wondered why he was feeling such. Was it because he really felt an attachment for Mjoll, though they had barely known each other for a year, or was it because of his time in Bruma?

When sleep finally closed his eyes, he did not dream. When he awoke at last, he heard men shouting orders and weapons clashing. Wearily he rose from his place and saw that the others were awake with weapons in their hands: all save for Lydia, she was still unconscious. Though he had no weapon, Eirik ran up the stairs and saw that the Bloodworks were all but empty. Blood, beer, bones, bits of food, broken plates and cups and torn clothes were all that remained of last night's revelry. Eirik followed the next flight of stairs up to the palace and saw that the Stormcloaks were now all arrayed before the doors in their gear, with swords, axes, maces and shields at the ready. As Eirik looked at this in perplexity, Galmar suddenly called out to and approached him.

"Where is your sword, kinsman?" he asked. "We're under attack!"

"Has the assault begun?" Eirik asked.

"No," Galmar retorted. "This is some devilry at the hands of those in the Grey Quarter. Early this morning we awoke to find that several fires had broken out in what was left of the Stone Quarter. Many of the city guards had been slain and a group of dark elves attacked the Palace. Too many of our men threw down their weapons in surrender, the cowards!"

"They're attacking us?" Eirik asked.

"They waited until we were beleaguered and besieged," said Galmar. "To put a dagger in our backs." He turned to those at the door. "Hold your ground, sons of Skyrim! Don't let those bastards take this city!"

The door shook as though a ram had struck it. Again there was another blast and again the door shook. Eirik made his way to the throne, where stood Ulfric Stormcloak, clad in armor with a sword in his hand. When he saw Eirik, he approached him with a disapproving glare in his eyes.

"I hold you responsible for this, Dragonborn," he said.

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"We had those Imperial bastards by the balls," Ulfric said. "And then you handed victory over to them on a silver platter!"

"If it wasn't for me," Eirik retorted angrily. "Alduin would have destroyed you all!"

"But the Empire didn't care for any peace treaty, did they?" Ulfric asked. "They used it to bide time as they took through guile what they couldn't take at the bargaining table or by force. Now we all will pay for your short-sightedness!"

"I refuse to be a pawn to the Thalmor!" Eirik retorted.

"And so do I!" Ulfric countered. "But I chose to do it by fighting for the people of Skyrim and not the Empire!"

"I have always been for the people of Skyrim!"

"Your actions speak otherwise!"

"And am I to blame for these elves knocking at your gates?" Eirik asked, though when Ulfric turned about, he regretted that he had asked at all.

"Watch your tongue!" Ulfric roared. "You are in no position to criticize me after what you've done, what you've let happen! My men will die because of you! My city will be lost because of you! The cause will die because of you!"

Eirik had no answer, for he felt the weight of Ulfric's words in his heart. But his thoughts were interrupted as the door was suddenly thrust open and cries of battle were once again heard. Another loud explosion shook the palace and several of the defenders crumbled into smoldering piles of charred flesh while some threw down their weapons and begged for surrender while others ran to the back and upper portions of the Palace. Eirik saw the ones who were charging into the hall. They were Dunmer, some clad in peasant's clothes with nothing more than pitchforks and hoes, while others had Imperial armor and some were throwing balls of arcane fire into the defenders. Ulfric and Eirik were now left with a few bear-skin captains, including Galmar Stone-Fist, to defend the hall against outnumbering elves. The Dunmer rebels halted before the last defenders and one appeared from among them, clad as a peasant with long dark hair and a beard.

"Athal Sarys," Ulfric said to the newcomer. "So you show your true colors at last, siding with the Empire behind our backs."

"Ulfric Stormcloak," the elf said, speaking with a voice thick with the accent of the people of Morrowind. "Your crimes against the Dunmer people are well-known to all. But the day of reckoning has come at last. Did you think we would bend our knees in meek, quiet subservience to your cruelties while you fought your war with the Empire?" He laughed. "Even you Nords shouldn't be that stupid."

"I dare you to strike me down, Sarys!" Ulfric retorted. "Because then you'll show all of Skyrim just what you dark elves are: back-stabbing murderers who've taken advantage of the chaos of war for your own ends!"

"Enough of this," Athal said. "Surrender now and I'll consider letting you live."

"No son of Skyrim will ever surrender before a foreign invader!" Galmar roared.

"Indeed," Athal laughed. "Behold all who have thrown down their arms in surrender! The people of Skyrim are not as stupid as you'd have us believe. They saw that there was no hope in fighting a losing battle and so wisely surrendered. Your death will mean the end of the war and the tyranny that you have brought!"

Ulfric laughed. "A fine speech, elf. But I have something you don't have, something you will never have, something that your kind knows to fear: I have the Voice! _Fus...Ro Dah!_"

There was a bright flash as several elves around Athal Sarys were blasted aside but he stood fast, a magical ward hovering before him and a smile on his face.

"Seize him!" Sarys shouted.

Ulfric fought off a good deal, but even his strength and valor did not last long against them. He was subdued and bound and gagged. Meanwhile, others attacked his captains who rushed to his side. Many fell, until only Eirik and Galmar remained. Eirik turned his face towards Athal Sarys and shouted: "_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Half of the invading elves were thrown aside, but Sarys did not move, a magical ward protecting him once again.

"Bind him as well!" Sarys shouted, pointing to Eirik. "He's one of those Voice charlatans!"

Eirik had little with which to defend himself save for his own two fists, which wouldn't do much against those armed with pitchforks, swords and magic. But he fought on regardless, taking down the first elf who attacked him with a blow to the face. The second was felled with an elbow in the face and then he kicked the third, but was swiftly dragged down and bound and gagged as well. Galmar was also bound but not gagged and Eirik saw the three elves he had knocked down slowly rise up, massaging where he had struck them.

"Take them outside," Sarys said to his people.

Outside, in the courtyard of the Palace of the Kings, Eirik saw what looked like all of the Dunmer of the Grey Quarter now filling up the courtyard. There were cries beyond them and Eirik guessed that these were the townsfolk, unhappy at having their city suddenly occupied. How the order was being kept Eirik did not know, although he guessed it had something to do with the fact that many of the Stormcloak guards had been killed after the drunken stupor of last night or threw down their arms in surrender. Eirik, Galmar and Ulfric were placed on one side while Brunwulf Free-Winter approached through the throng of Dunmer and stood opposite from them.

"Traitor!" Galmar roared.

"This damned war has gone on for too long," Brunwulf retorted. "Soon the gates will be opened, the Imperial Legion will enter this city and restore the peace. Long live the Empire."

After a time, Athal Sarys appeared from out of the Palace of the Kings, surrounded by those who had stormed the hall with him in the assault. They had brought up, to Eirik's horror, Torvar, Ria, Thorald and Lydia from out of the dungeons. Torvar looked half awake, Ria had a bruise on the side of her head and Lydia was still unconscious, being held up by two Dunmer soldiers.

"My people!" Sarys began. "Less than two hundred years ago, the Decree of Monument was signed by the jarls of Skyrim, granting our people freedom to live in this land which once belonged to elf-kind! Over the years, we have been treated like cattle, despised and marginalized by the prejudice and narrow-minded Nords of Skyrim. Today, on the thirteenth day of Sun's Dawn in the two hundred and second year of the Fourth Era, I give you the prime agitator and cause of all our oppression: Ulfric Stormcloak!"

Two Dunmer dragged Ulfric before Athal Sarys, to general booing and catcalls from those gathered in the courtyard. Only Galmar's voice was heard crying "Ulfric is our king!", after which one of the guards watching them struck him across the face. Athal Sarys held up his hands and all fell silent.

"Today," he continued. "The Dunmer of Skyrim take their destiny into their own hands. For after this hate-mongering bigot's blood has been spilled upon the stones of this city, the gates shall be opened and we shall greet the Imperial Legions and tell them who it was who ended the civil war for them, for it was the Dunmer of Skyrim!" Great cheers arose from those in the courtyard, which ended once Athal Sarys held up his hands again.

"Let his blood be the first to be spilled," Sarys said, gesturing to Ulfric. The guards brought him before Sarys, who looked down and held up his hand, silencing all. "What say you, Ulfric Stormcloak, in your own defense?" Since he was gagged, Ulfric could make no response. To this, Sarys laughed. "Do you see? He has no excuse for his actions, for there _is_ none!" He waved towards one of those standing nearby who had a sword in hand. With one wave, the sword was brought down upon Ulfric's neck, buried into flesh...but the head did not come off. The elf tore out the blood-stained blade and struck again, but once more the blade failed to sever his neck. Again he struck and again a fourth time. After a fifth strike, the head finally fell off the bloodied and broken neck and tumbled onto the stone pavement. Cheers arose from all those in the courtyard as Athal Sarys lifted up the head of Ulfric Stormcloak.

"The Bear of Windhelm is no more!" he proclaimed. Greater cheers arose from the elves in the courtyard, after which Brunwulf Free-Winter approached Athal Sarys.

"Let the word be given!" he cried out. "Open the gates and let the Empire enter into the city of Kings!"

"Not so fast, Brunwulf Free-Winter," Sarys said, turning to the old Nord.

"What do you mean?" Brunwulf asked. "Ulfric is dead, the rebellion has ended. Let the Empire enter into..."

"What gives you any right to stand here as an equal?" Sarys asked.

"I have helped your people through the rough times," Brunwulf said. "Ask any of them! Who was it who has always begged with both Ulfric and his father to end the suffering of the dark elves in Windhelm? When the blockade occurred, who was it who smuggled food to the starving people of the Grey Quarter?"

"Oh, I see," Sarys replied. "And, like good little slaves, we should just accept your charity and return to our homes while you take the throne of Windhelm and the credit for Ulfric's death all to yourself, I take it."

"No, never!" Brunwulf retorted. "All I want is for justice to be done in Skyrim."

"Justice indeed," Sarys stated. "And was it not you who said that you begged Ulfric to end our suffering?"

"Aye, that I have done," Brunwulf said.

"And, as you can clearly see, your words fell on deaf ears," Sarys continued. "You failed to do what you hold as a badge of honor which you think will save your life. But it will not! Dunmer saved themselves from the tyranny of Ulfric Stormcloak, not Nords. It is high time you people learned the truth: you are like ignorant cattle, grazing stupidly on your master's field while higher beings plot your slaughter. Not only for those who call themselves 'Stormcloaks', but for _all_ Nords in the Eastmarch!"

There were cheers scattered with cries of dismay from those beyond the courtyard. Eirik saw horror pass before Brunwulf's face as he realized that he had stuck out his neck for the dark elf people, only to have them ask for his head in return.

"Ten years ago," Sarys continued, speaking to the people in the courtyard. "I wrote a book called '_Dunmer of Skyrim_', where I proclaimed our supremacy as a race apart from the ignorant Nords. Today that vision shall come to pass! When those gates are opened, we will tell General Tullius and the Imperial Legion that we slew Ulfric Stormcloak, ending the rebellion and civil war for them. In their gratitude, they will give this city to us. We will promise to uphold the Treaty of the Armistice as we have done before and obey the laws of the Empire where they apply to us. And this city of Windhelm shall be renamed 'New Gnisis', a free city for the Dunmer people to inhabit, free of the scourge of Nordic oppression and Argonian filth, for a thousand years!" Cheers arose from the crowd in perfect response.

"No!" Brunwulf replied. "I have never ceased to help your people! I have fought, suffered and bled that you might be free from the yoke of Ulfric's oppression! You can't do this to me!"

"Oh, but we can," said Athal Sarys to Brunwulf. "And we will. As you yourself just said now, you have bled for us to be free. Well, the Dunmer people require _more_ of your blood!" He signaled to the soldiers near at hand and slashed his fore-finger across his neck.

"My loyalties have been always to the Emperor," Brunwulf said as he was dragged beside Ulfric's body and forced to kneel. "My heart has always been to the suffering dark elf people. Long live the Emp..."

But before he could speak, his neck was severed by the headsman, though his head was not stricken off at the first blow. Two blows more and then Brunwulf Free-Winter lay headless beside Ulfric Stormcloak. There were not as many cheers among the crowds when they saw Brunwulf dead as opposed to when Ulfric was slain.

"Open the gates of Vindrhyll!" Sarys shouted. "Let the Empire come forth to greet the ones who liberated the city and crushed the rebellion for them!"

Immediately there was heard more shouting and commotion, but Eirik did not stay long to guess what it could be, for the Dunmer who held him and Galmar in chains dragged him back to the dungeons of the Palace of the Kings. Only this time he would not be sent back to his bed, but _in_to the cells, which were then locked. Once more, to his depression and dismay, Eirik Dragonborn was back behind bars.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I did not make up Athal Sarys for the purpose of having a Dunmer scape-goat which I could pin all the evil on. He is mentioned in the game as the author of <em>Dunmer of Skyrim<em>, I just expanded his role a bit. This is, however, not the end of tribulations which Eirik shall face, for he has still not faced enough.)  
><strong>


	26. Flight to Riften

**(AN: One big complaint about "The Dragonborn and the Lioness" was that every challenge Eirik faced was apparently too easy, so obviously he needs to come through even more shit than before, that is one reason I keep saying "he's not had enough yet". Yesterday, while brain-storming ideas for this story, I was going for one idea, but then with that review, I've decided to go with the one I had originally intended, especially since it will return to importance the Dragonborn.)**

**(Here's something interesting, though. Eirik is the Norwegian variant of the name "Eric", which means "eternal king". I actually thought that I had made that form up, but apparently the Norwegians thought of it first. That is one big hint about who the "bear" might be [no pun intended]. As for the perspective, that was something I loved about my _Soul Calibur_ fics. They each told a separate story, but each story was linked and when they did intersect, one person didn't know everything. They only saw or heard what was pertinent to their story or to their person. I intended to make that happen in this story, though there will be points of divergence where someone else's perspective will be portrayed [though in _The Dragon of the South_, the story will be told from a completely different perspective, perhaps not even the same story, though set in the same time and place].)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Flight to Riften<strong>

How many days Eirik spent in the dungeons of Windhelm he knew not. Though the siege had ended he had no food and was once more growing weary. The others talked little, for they had little to say to each other. Torvar sometimes called out for mead, but his pleas went unanswered. Lydia, however, seemed to be improving and Eirik could see her sometimes tossing gently about in her sleep.

For himself, his days of sleeping and waking were little different. One long period of sorrow and depression followed by the inky blackness of night, with no hope of change. All he knew was that the Dunmer ruling Windhelm, which they now called 'New Gnisis', were planning something against the Nordic populace. How long it would be before they turned their eyes to him he knew not, nor did he care much. All he missed now was Mjoll's company. He would give anything to be with her again and he realized, all too late, that he had thrown himself haphazardly into the arms of death rather than search for her. He begged the Nine Divines, especially Stendarr the god of mercy and Mara the goddess of benevolence, to look down upon him with pity and reunite his love with him once again.

In the outside world, two days had passed since Ulfric Stormcloak's execution: no one in Skyrim mourned him. Clan Silver-Blood in the west lay dead upon the stones of Markarth, while in Whiterun the bodies of Clan Grey-Mane were hung from the gate of the city as a warning to those who would take the side of traitors. Even in Riften, where the Snow-Shod family still lived, they could not mourn Ulfric publicly. Instead they lowered their heads while the people of Riften cried out in cheers of joy, praising the Eight (and some the Nine secretly) that the bloody civil war had finally ended and justice had been served upon the rebels.

Suddenly, Eirik was roused from his slumber. Looking up, he saw Galmar Stone-Fist prodding him from the cell nearby his.

"Wake up!" he whispered. "We're getting out of here!"

Eirik lowered his head and tried to return to sleep.

"Are you a Nord or aren't you?" Galmar retorted.

"What difference does it make?" Eirik asked. He realized suddenly that he was no longer gagged. Looking at Galmar, he saw two pieces of torn cloth lying near the bars of his cell. "I am imprisoned here with a host of enemies beyond and more outside the city. There is no hope of escape. And even if, by some miracle, I _did_ escape, what can I do? Ulfric is dead, the Stormcloak rebellion has ended. The Empire has proven stronger. It is over."

"That's Colovian talk, kinsman," Galmar said angrily. "You're a Nord, and you know better. Don't you know the old Nord proverb? 'Damned is the man who curses the night but will not light a candle.'"

"Why do you care about what I do?" Eirik asked. "You never trusted me, as I recall. And you still don't, for all I know."

"They say you're the Dragonborn," Galmar stated. "I've seen you use the Voice like Ulfric did, and that power should be used to free the people of Skyrim."

"But why me?"

"Because there is none other," Galmar retorted. "Sometimes it is the burden of great men to do that which they would not otherwise do. Ulfric knew this, that's why he refused to bow down to the Empire."

"I am not Ulfric Stormcloak," Eirik said. "I'm no general, I know little of strategy or fighting a war. My only attempt at breaking a siege was to Shout the blockade apart, and look what good that did me! Besides, a man needs an army, doesn't he? If he wants to fight a war? And what army have we?"

"I for one," Galmar said. "And not all our brothers died in the elven attack on the Palace of the Kings. I'd say at least twenty more in this dungeon."

"Twenty-one is an army?" Eirik laughed grimly.

"We have you, my thane!" Lydia suddenly spoke up. Turning around, Eirik saw Lydia, leaning up and speaking to him from her cell across the hall. "I've seen what you can do with my own eyes. You called a dragon down out of the sky with your very Voice! What chance does anyone stand before you?"

"If I have my freedom," Eirik said. "I'm going to Riften to begin my search for my wife. The rebellion has failed."

"Riften!" Galmar exclaimed. "That's brilliant! We'll cut off the Legion's retreat to Cyrodiil and prevent further forces from entering Skyrim! You'll make a general yet, Dragonborn! Come on, now, you know what to do."

Eirik eyed the bars of his cell, then lowered his head.

"Your hands might be tied," Galmar said. "But you are Dragonborn. This cell shouldn't be any trouble for you at all!"

"Listen, my thane," Lydia spoke up. "You want to get out of here and start looking for Mjoll. Well, how else are you going to do that without getting out of here? Your goals and Galmar's align, so why not help him?"

Eirik sighed, then turned his face back towards the door. He remembered the words of Arngeir, "Sky above, Voice within", and tried to concentrate on the bars. He had never blown apart something this strong before and needed to harness all of the strength of his Voice. Suddenly it hit him like a bolt of lightning, though there was no lightning this far below ground. Eirik opened his lips and shouted: "_**Fus...Ro Dah!**_"

His voice was even louder and more powerful than he had imagined: the whole dungeon echoed with the magnitude of his Thu'um. Then, with the fury of the North Wind, the bars of his prison cell crumbled like dry twigs before a giant's fist. Eirik rose to his feet and walked out of the dungeon just as one of the elvish jailers came running down the hall to hear what awesome noise had sounded within the dark cells. Eirik saw a ring of keys upon his belt and struck him with both fists in one blow, delivering a kick to the groin just as he was stunned from the first blow.

"Get the keys!" Galmar roared.

Eirik leaned down, picking up the keys with his bound hands and walked over to Galmar's cell, placing them in his hands.

"How did you manage to break free?" he asked.

"I fought in the Great War," Galmar replied. "I escaped the elvish torture chambers on my own. These rope bonds were nothing!"

Once Galmar unlocked his cell, he helped Eirik out of his bonds, then took the chains to the other cells, where Eirik saw the twenty Stormcloaks who had survived the assault being freed. As they were making their way towards him, Galmar unlocked the cells for Torvar, Ria, Thorald and Lydia while Eirik turned to the newcomers. As he was looking into their faces - some of them no older than seventeen and others almost sixty - he saw that they were looking at him with waiting eyes. Then one stood out from among the others and smiled.

"Dragonborn!" Ralof called out. "We heard your Voice when you broke the blockade, but our captors said that you had been slain. I never believed it for a moment. Say the word, Eirik, and we'll follow you wherever you go."

"Kinsmen, no," Eirik said to them. "I'm no leader. I...I was named Harbinger of the Companions but couldn't even keep them together."

"Do you hear that?" Ralof asked. "The Companions are on our side now!"

"No, that can't happen," Eirik said. "Listen to me! I'm not a leader, I never have been. I cannot lead the Companions into any war, it is against their tradition. I...I'm one of you, just a simple woodsman from Falkreath..."

"You're the Dragonborn," Ralof stated. "But even more, you're _our_ Dragonborn, a son of Skyrim. That you happen to come from humble origins means that you know exactly what we're like, how we feel about the Empire taking away our livelihood."

"But..." Eirik interjected.

"Talos was Dragonborn," Ralof said. "And he founded a great empire and became a god. You are Dragonborn, your destiny is no less great. Lead us and we will follow."

Behind him, Eirik heard the cell door opened as the others poured out into the corridor, gazing in wonder at Eirik. He looked at them in surprise, but they did not speak nor tell him why they looked upon him with such awe. Lydia then knelt down and the others slowly took knee around him as well.

"I am not worthy of worship," Eirik said.

"Save us, Dragonborn!" a young Nord man said.

"We're with you to the end, my thane," Lydia added.

Eirik gazed speechless at them for a moment, but then looked up at the doorway leading to the Bloodworks. Nearby, he saw a collection of weapons which had been confiscated from them. He then turned to those kneeling before him, sighed wearily and spoke.

"Rise," he said. "Stand on your feet, kinsmen. No Nord knee shall be bowed to any save the High King and the gods."

"What are your orders?" Ralof asked.

"We're leaving Windhelm," Eirik said. "We're going south to Riften. As Galmar has stated, it will cut off supplies and troops from Cyrodiil."

"But the city is still surrounded," a Nord woman stated. "How will we get through the blockade?"

"Leave that to me."

Those behind him began scrambling for weapons when suddenly someone entered into the Bloodworks. More than a few weapons were turned towards the newcomer, as well as Eirik, Ria, Torvar, Thorald and Lydia. To their relief, they saw that it was only the blacksmith's apprentice walking down into the Bloodworks.

"What are you doing here?" Ria asked.

"I came looking for him," Hermir said, gesturing to Eirik.

"Why for me?" Eirik asked.

"Oengul told me that you were with the Stormcloaks," she said.

"The Stormcloaks are finished," Eirik said grimly. "The Dunmer made sure of that when they killed Ulfric."

"The White take them!" Hermir growled. "Ulfric was the only one who could have united Skyrim and saved her from the folly of the Empire." She walked towards Eirik, almost kneeling down in his presence. "Take me with you."

"What?" Eirik asked.

"There's nothing for me here now," she said. "Let me fight at your side and make weapons and armor for you and for these others." She nodded to those standing behind Eirik. "Lead me and I will follow you as I would have followed Ulfric."

Eirik did not answer. Though they were doubtless following him to avenge the death of Ulfric and save Skyrim from the Empire, or whatever new goal they had in mind, Eirik's only thoughts were of returning to Riften. He would find Mjoll and make amends for his actions and they would never be apart. Slowly his thoughts about the rebellion were fleeing from his mind, but here he was, once again, being thrust into the place of leadership.

Suddenly they heard shouting and Hermir fled to the side wall of the Bloodworks away from the entrance. Eirik gestured to the others that they do likewise, and they did. Three Dunmer appeared, walking into the Bloodworks to see who had made the loud noise they had heard earlier.

"For Ulfric and for Skyrim!" Galmar shouted.

Galmar and several warriors leaped out from the walls and tackled the Dunmer to the ground. Several of them gathered weapons from the Bloodworks and cut down the Dunmer without so much as a second thought. Eirik was not looking at them, though, for his eyes were back on the stairway leading up to the main hall of the Palace of the Kings.

"They'd have heard that," Eirik said. "We need to get out of here now!"

The rebels ran up the stairs first, with Eirik and the others bringing up the lead. As Eirik turned to the left, he saw Galmar and the others pushing the doors to the main hall open with all their might. Galmar shouted for them to run outside quickly, and Eirik helped Lydia out of the hall first. Afterwards came Ria, Torvar and Thorald, carrying weapons. As Thorald passed by, he tossed something to Eirik, who took it in hand, hoping that it was a weapon: it was a wooden staff.

"Really?" Eirik asked. "That's the best you can give me?"

"Shut up!" Galmar shouted. "Now is not the time to be arguing like children!"

One by one the others started running out of the hall as the Dunmer guards realized they were escaping. Now they were running through the streets of Windhelm, trying to reach the gates as they were suddenly being closed before them. Eirik almost tripped over a body lying in the street, then noticed that there were more bodies lying in the streets of the Stone Quarter. But he did not have much time to ponder this when someone shouted at him from the gates.

"Quickly!"

Eirik hobbled across the body-strewn streets towards the gates. There he saw Galmar and the Stormcloak rebels holding the gates open while several were running up to the gatehouse to close the gates on them. Suddenly Eirik heard shouts and arrows skittering on the pavement. Before he could move, he was tackled to the ground and he heard a loud cry from somewhere near at hand. He suddenly noticed Hermir Strong-Heart lying on top of him: there was an arrow sticking out of her back. From this he gathered that she had leaped upon him to protect him from the arrows. It was the first time someone had saved him since Mjoll and Lydia.

"Hurry!" Ria shouted.

Turning around, Eirik saw that the gates were slowly closing regardless of the rebels holding the gates open. Eirik picked up Hermir and hobbled towards the gates as fast as he could. Once he passed through, the gates were sealed, leaving them to cross to the second arch of the bridge of Windhelm before archers on the walls behind them shot them down. They then ran as fast as they could to the first arch, seeing before them the lines of the Imperial Legion before them.

"What now?" Galmar asked.

"Do what you did before," Torvar said to Eirik. "Shout them apart!"

"I don't have the momentum I had before to do that," Eirik said. "But it might."

"Just do what you need to do," Galmar stated.

Eirik nodded, remembering how he had escaped the Falmer-infested path to the Inner Sanctum of Auri-El's Chantry in the Forgotten Vale. But he also remembered that Durnehviir was not able to stay long in the world, nor would the spirits of the heroes of Sovngarde. He needed something powerful to break the Imperial lines, something living that could overwhelm the Legion and give them a chance to escape. Then it dawned on him.

"_O...Dah Viing!_" Eirik shouted.

Once the booming echo of his Thu'um, like the crash of thunder, died about the air, Eirik made his way slowly towards the front-lines of the Imperials. He could see their gladius swords being aimed at him, their spears leveled towards him, and arrows and cross-bows being loaded, bent and aimed towards him. Would the dragon come before they were cut down by the Imperials?

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" a loud voice boomed from above.

Suddenly a great scarlet dragon dove down out of the clouds above and sent the front-lines of the Legion scattering away with its voice. Mighty may have been the Thu'um of Eirik the Dragonborn, like unto that of Tiber Septim and Ulfric Stormcloak, but the voice of a dragon was much louder and stronger still. In the confusion at the front-lines, Eirik charged towards the broken lines, eager to be free once again. The opposition stood no chance. Chaos was brought to their ranks with the dragon attack. Some tried to stand their ground but were quickly cut down by Galmar and the Stormcloaks. Others threw down their weapons at the sight of a dragon and fled as fast as their legs could carry them. Even some saw Eirik approaching, armed with only a staff, a host of men behind him and a dragon overhead, and ran in fright or let their weapons fall from their hands in terror.

"The Bear!" some cried in fear. "The Bear of Eastmarch lives again!"

Eirik did not listen to their words, for he had as his goal the woods and valleys of Eastmarch. From there he would speed to the Rift, if only to search for Mjoll. Damn them and their 'Bear of Eastmarch'. It meant nothing to him, merely words spoken by men in terror. Above the Snow Hunter rained down fire and death upon the Imperial Legion while Eirik and the Stormcloak remnants fled from the siege of Windhelm.

At last they reached a knoll somewhere far away from the rear of the Imperial lines in the snows of Eastmarch, where they could look down upon Windhelm and see what was taking place. The great red dragon flew overhead, breathing fire down upon the lines while Eirik looked on silently. Nearby where Ria and Galmar, who also looked down upon the wrath of the dragon.

"Call it off," Ria said to Eirik.

"No, let them all burn," Galmar said.

"You have to call it off!" Ria retorted, turning to Eirik. "It's not right!"

"What ain't right about it?" Galmar asked.

"These are Nords down there," Ria said sorrowfully. "_Your_ kinsmen! And they're dying because of _you!_" She turned to Eirik.

"They'd rather stand with their dying empire," Galmar stated. "They've betrayed Skyrim. Let them die."

"You're the Harbinger of the Companions!" Ria added. "You're not supposed to fight for any side in any war!"

Eirik shouted the dragon's name once again, and the Snow Hunter broke off from the slaughter of the Imperial Legion. The giant dragon suddenly came to rest on a hill nearby, causing Eirik to curse underneath his breath. Now the Empire would be able to guess that someone had summoned the Dragon, that he had been the one who broke through their lines and that he was fleeing this way.

"Hail, _thuri_," said Odahviing.

"Go on about your business," Eirik said to the dragon. Then he pointed west. "But be sure to fly that way. If they choose to follow you, that should lead them off my scent."

"_Geh, Dovahkiin_." The great crimson dragon spread his wings and took off into the sky, turning towards the sky that was still untouched by the sun's daily path across the sky.

"Now, we go to Riften?" Galmar asked.

"Aye," Eirik said, looking southward towards the long expanse of snow-clad trees. "We go to Riften."

"This is good," Galmar said, then gave the orders to the others. Eirik, meanwhile, turned to Ria.

"There were other ways," she said. "Other methods of getting through the Imperial lines without burning them alive."

"Yes, there may have been," Eirik said. "I'm sorry. I did not behave honorably."

Ria said nothing as she walked back to Torvar. Shortly they made their slow progress southward, towards the trees Eirik had noticed. As they were walking, Eirik made his way to where Galmar and the others were and spoke to the old warrior while they made their way southward.

"What do you know about what they were saying back there?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Galmar returned.

"They called me 'the Bear of Eastmarch,'" said Eirik. "I'm not from Eastmarch, and I was born under the sign of the Warrior, not the Bear."

"The Bear of Eastmarch was a title given to Vegard Stormcloak, the former Jarl of Windhelm," Galmar began. "He had protected his realm from an invasion by the last of the Glacier tribes in the Pale, and was granted that title. They said he protected the people like a she-bear protecting her cubs. Although, the origins of that title stretch back to the first King of Windhelm who ruled after Ysgramor."

"Stormcloak," Eirik sighed, feeling as though he had heard the name more than enough. "Was he a relative of Ulfric's?"

"He was his father," Galmar replied.

Eirik knew not how to respond to this and so continued on his way back to the front of the group in silence. What Ria had said about his actions still stung: was this his legacy? To continue the bloodshed of the Stormcloak rebellion? Could he not be free to protect his loved one as best he could?

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Hey there, i hope some of you are still with me. Lack of consistent internet access means that updating this will be hell. Some of the story is being brought together, especially Eirik's own personal trials. I realized that, even in the game world, the time they give is too short to form a valid relationship. Even in real life, three months [which i had in the game] feels pretty rushed. While some who saw all the trials they went through in <em>The Dragonborn and the Lioness<em> will doubtless say that I'm putting them through too much, I feel that they should have a rocky relationship because they only got married after three months. They might have more troubles in their future...once they are reunited, that is.)  
><strong>

**(Aside from some controversy about boring characters in _Doctor Who_ which turned the whole of the internet against me, not much to say. What do you all think about Paarthurnax? Can he be trusted or is he just another obstacle to be defeated? Also, does anyone remember if I gave a specific birthday for Eirik? I have it down to year, roughly 4E 171, but I forgot if I had a month and a day. I'm pretty sure that it was after Last Seed because of what I wrote in the timeline, but I forgot. Anyone else know?)  
><strong>

**(Remember to review, because I like the feedback, especially about characters. I want to expand a bit more of Thorald and Hermir, but also Lydia and, possibly Aela. The main ones will be Eirik and...well, you know. Also we have a Bloodmoon in real life, so stay safe and if you see any werewolves, don't fight them!)**


	27. Wolves of Jorrvaskr

**(AN: I am very grateful that I read _Lord of the Rings_, because last night the words of JRR Tolkien came into mind, the words from "Shadow of the Past." "I wish it had not happened in my time." "So do I, and so do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." Possibly the best, most comforting lines in the book and, thank the Nine, Peter Jackson kept it in his films. As far as he fell with _The Hobbit_ movies, he struck gold with the _Lord of the Rings_.)**

**(Those words came to me on the first night of the Bloodmoon and gave me courage. Therefore I felt, aside from reuniting the Companions and fan-service to the Interesting NPCs mod [i'm thinking about doing smaller spin-offs, featuring minor characters from _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, and one of them will feature a character from Interesting NPCs], that Eirik needed something of the same since he also is thrown into the middle of hard times himself.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Wolves of Jorrvaskr<strong>

The small band continued their path southward, halting rarely on their path and only then for a few minutes at a time. At the lead was Eirik, who was dead-set on returning to Riften. Not since the fall of the Bear of Windhelm had he been so focused on one goal. He had failed, but he would not fail again. In his heart he wanted to forsake those behind him, let Oblivion take them, and return to Riften, eager to see if Mjoll had returned thither or no.

But Eirik could not leave them, not now. He was their last hope. He had seen that in their eyes when he stood before the twenty, eager to be led once again. More than being the leader of the rebellion, he was also the Harbinger of two members of the Companions. Though Eirik did not wish to be a leader, he was now a leader of two groups and they were in his hands. Every moment he pondered forsaking those behind them, his mind returned to Mjoll. If he could not maintain his marriage, how could he maintain the last of the Stormcloak rebels and the Companions? This only further increased his worry: why did he try to maintain the stability of his marriage and of the rebellion and the Companions? Did he love Mjoll? Did he love Skyrim? Did he love the Companions? Or was this only a means to prove himself?

Because of this, Eirik kept to himself. They only followed him, thinking he had some greater plan in mind by going to Riften. He had told them this, but was it all just a lie? Would he lead them to Riften only to leave them hanging as he searched for Mjoll? He needed a level, unclouded head about him in these dark days, and so he chose to keep to himself as they traveled south.

A day had passed since they escaped, possibly the sixteenth of Sun's Dawn. They had made only one stop, skirting along the eastern side of the mountains, keeping to the woods rather than through the salt-flats. Morning was growing old and soon they would reach the mountain passes and be high above the plateau of the Rift, looking down upon Eastmarch below. At the front of the line stood Eirik, leaning on a staff as he looked back at those in the rear. He still had no weapon and could only protect them with his Voice: but, as they had seen with the escape from Windhelm, that was more than enough.

As they were walking through the woods, Eirik halted. Something had caught his attention.

"What is it?" Lydia asked.

"I thought I saw something off to the right," Eirik said, gesturing towards the scant trees to his right.

"I thought I saw something as well," Lydia added. "Last night at camp, I heard something creaking through the trees to the left."

"Left and right," Eirik mused aloud. "Either it was one person, sounding us out carefully on both sides, or we're being surrounded by two foes. In any case, we're being followed. Make sure everyone is ready in case we're attacked."

"We're not prepared for any attack," Lydia shook her head. "Only one and twenty ex-Stormcloaks, a wounded blacksmith's apprentice and two Companions. Besides, you're not fully recovered from your flight to Windhelm."

"Neither are you," Eirik added. He turned his eyes back to the path leading up onto the plateau and thought once again to himself: "_I need a weapon._"

* * *

><p>Slowly but surely they made their way southward, towards the plateau of the Rift. It was a long while before they would reach the high ground and they might not even reach the gates of Riften until the seventeenth of Sun's Dawn being tomorrow. Still Eirik led them slowly back up the mountains, encountering no resistance. Any bandits had long since fled into their hiding places once the Imperial Legion had marched through here on its way to the siege of Windhelm.<p>

As the gray hours of twilight fell upon them and the mist-veiled fens of Eastmarch began to grow faint behind them, Eirik called for a halt. None of them were ungrateful for a rest, though they had hoped that it would be on a more concealed location. The pathway up into the Rift was the perfect place for an ambush and more than a few of them were disturbed by the two blood-moons in the sky above.

But Eirik had sensed something moving in the woods. With his staff in hand, he strode carefully into the brush, eying the lengthening shadows of the trees around him. Presently, his path led him into a small glade of trees, secluded from view of the road. Just then he turned about and, to his surprise, saw someone standing before him with a bow drawn pointed at him. He raised his staff, but the archer did not fire. Instead, she lowered the bow and laughed.

"What do you plan on catching with that staff, butterflies?" Aela asked.

Eirik lowered his gaze shamefully. "My sword was stolen from me."

"And where is Wuuthrad?" she asked. "Do you not still have it?"

"Aye, I have it," Eirik said. "It's in safe keeping in Falkreath. And what brings you back to Skyrim? I thought you were on Solstheim..."

"Our hunt has led us throughout Tamriel," said Aela. "After Solstheim, we ran through the ash-lands of Morrowind, then headed west over the mountains. Strange that we find you here, though."

"We?" Eirik asked.

"Hey, you two!" Aela called out. "I found him! The Harbinger!"

Presently, Eirik saw Vilkas and Farkas approach from out of the trees. Both of them looked rather haggard, with more than a little scruff on their chins and their hair in disarray, as was the case with Aela, but they, like her, were clothed, armored and bore their weapons.

"I hope you've been taking care of the Companions in our absence," Vilkas spoke.

Once more Eirik's head fell in dismay, as he walked back and brought the others into the glade. They were, of course, very relieved when they saw that the newcomers were friends, Nords as well as strong warriors. Then Aela saw Ria and Torvar and turned to Eirik.

"Leading these two on a hunt, I take it?" she asked. "That surprises me, since I've never seen Torvar do much besides just defending the hall and drink his arse off."

"Alas," Eirik sighed. "There is more to this than merely that."

"Well? What is it?" Farkas asked.

Eirik hung his head as he recounted everything that happened in Whiterun, from the culling of Clan Grey-Mane, including Vignar and Eorlund, to the split of the Companions. When he had finished, Aela, Farkas and Vilkas hung their heads in sorrow.

"Eorlund and Vignar will be sorely missed," Vilkas said. "They were mighty men and honorable, and no finer steel in all of Skyrim was forged save by the hand of Eorlund Grey-Mane on the Skyforge."

"I think Njada may be right," Farkas added. "Ever since you've showed up, all our great ones have died."

"You know that's not true, Farkas," Aela retorted, turning to her shield-brother. "The Silver Hand, not Eirik, killed Skjor and Kodlak. Their deaths had nothing to do with him." She turned back to Eirik. "Kodlak made you Harbinger, and I'll follow the old man's wishes."

"As will I," Vilkas said. "Farkas as well."

"Since when do you do my thinking for me, brother?" Farkas asked.

"Since always, brother," Vilkas retorted. "You remember when we were young?"

"But our numbers have thinned," Aela stated. "Eirik, as Harbinger, we will need your help in recruiting new members. Not only to bolster our numbers but, if what you say is true, to take back Jorrvaskr."

Eirik nodded, but said no more as the others had now reached the glade.

* * *

><p>By nightfall, all were gathered around the camp-fire which they made within the wooded glade. Eirik and the Circle stayed up, contemplating the survival of the Companions, while Galmar and a few Stormcloaks kept watch. Lydia was lying against Eirik's shoulder, fast asleep. Eirik said nothing while Aela and the twins rambled on about what was to happen.<p>

"We need a new blacksmith," Aela said. "Though no man, woman or mer could possibly replace Eorlund Grey-Mane, we must make due. Who can we have as the next blacksmith for the Companions?"

"Adrianne would be a fair choice," Vilkas stated. "She's a fine blacksmith, and hungry with the desire to prove herself. Perhaps with Eorlund gone, she would see an opportunity to rise to prominence as the best blacksmith in all of Skyrim."

"What about Oengul War-Anvil?" Farkas asked.

"He's good, yes," Vilkas shrugged. "Besides, he has experience on his side."

"Harbinger?" Aela asked. "Would you like to say anything?"

"Hmm?" Eirik asked. "Oh, yes, actually I would. As far as blacksmiths go, there is one here among us to whom I owe my life. I would be less of a man and less of a Nord if I did not honor what she did for me in our escape from Windhelm. I name Hermir Strong-Heart as a candidate for joining the Companions."

"Oengul's apprentice?" Vilkas asked. "She's young and inexperienced."

"And what better way of gaining experience," Eirik suggested. "Than by forging steel for the Companions?"

"What about her political views?" Aela asked. "She's from Windhelm, she might have been a supporter of the Stormcloaks. You know our rules, Eirik."

"I know them," Eirik said. "And I also know, from what Vignar said, that neither he nor Eorlund allowed their own political biases to influence their duties to the Companions. I trust that she can do just as well, given the chance."

"Let's bring her forward, then," Farkas said.

"I'll wake the others," said Vilkas.

Shortly thereafter, Hermir was brought out from the others, still aching from her wound, and Torvar and Ria were awoken. Aela placed herself next to Eirik and helped him with the official oath of Companionship, as he had not received this upon joining their ranks.

"Brothers and Sisters of the Shield," Eirik said, repeating after Aela. "Tonight we welcome a new soul into our mortal hold. Hermir Strong-Heart."

"Who will speak for her?" Aela asked.

"I will speak for her," Eirik said. "She saved my life during the escape from Windhelm..."

"Just say 'I stand witness for the courage of the soul before us.'" Farkas interjected. Eirik repeated those words.

"Would you raise your shield in her defense?" Aela asked. Eirik nodded. "I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us." Eirik repeated her words. "Would you raise your sword in her honor?" Once more Eirik nodded. "It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes." Eirik repeated those words.

"At least when he has a sword," Farkas stated, which earned him a shove from Vilkas.

"And lastly," Aela asked, turning back to Eirik. "Would you raise a cup in her name?"

"Yes," said Eirik.

"I would lead the song in triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories." Eirik repeated the words once again.

"And what do the others of the Circle say to this judgment?" Aela asked.

"May her actions merit his words," Vilkas said.

"What he said," Farkas stated.

"Then this judgment of the Circle is complete," Aela said. She then turned to Hermir. "By his admittance, your heart beats with the same fury and courage which have united the Companions since the days of Ysgramor. Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call. Shall it be so?"

"It shall be so!" the Companions sounded as one.

Ria and Torvar welcomed Hermir into the Companions while Aela leaned over and whispered into Eirik's ear. "You'll have to memorize your parts when we recruit again. You're the Harbinger after all, and I shouldn't be holding your hand like this."

"Perhaps _you_ should be Harbinger," Eirik murmured. "I am not cut out for leadership, and I have my wife to look after."

Aela turned to Eirik. "While I might have been angry with Kodlak for choosing you over us as the new Harbinger, it was not for me or the twins to decide what his wishes should have been. We have our duty, and to that we stand. But you have a duty as well, to the Companions. We are your shield-brothers and shield-sisters. Those words we spoke mean something, and while you might not have heard them, they hold the same for you."

Eirik smiled grimly, though he did not immediately grasp what was being offered him. Aela then turned to the twins.

"How about a song, hmm?" she asked. "Something to chase away the gloom of the night?"

"Who are you kidding?" Eirik groaned as he snuggled next to Lydia. "You three don't sleep."

"Doesn't mean we can't be jovial, or enjoy a song around the fire," Aela said. "Come on, now, Farkas. Sing us that one song."

"It might not be wise," Vilkas whispered. "What if the others hear it?"

"A single Companion is worth two of these snow-berries," Aela said. "And the three of us are worth at least ten of them. They don't frighten me. Come on, let's have it."

"Let's have what?" Eirik asked.

"Go on, Farkas," Aela urged. "That's two who want to hear it."

"I'll sing," said Farkas. "But only if you two join in."

"You know I can't sing!" Aela chuckled.

"You sing better than I do," said Farkas.

"Nonsense!" Aela returned.

"Might as well," Vilkas added.

Farkas groaned, then began singing in a low, deep voice a few words which Eirik had never heard before. At the third line, the voice of Vilkas came in, a little higher but more middle-tone and melodic. When they reached the chorus, Aela harmonized along and, by the last refrain, even Eirik was humming along with them. The shadows of night seemed to disperse with their voices as the sparks carried their song up into the stars.

_The Wolf strode upon great Jorrvaskr_  
><em>To meet the sons of Ysgramor<em>  
><em>They said "What are you but a harbinger<em>  
><em>To leave us hopeless and forlorn?"<em>

_The Wolf bore its fangs and spread its claws_  
><em>And tore at its own hide<em>  
><em>"Drink the blood, and become my sons<em>  
><em>Or by dawn you'll not survive"<em>

_And so the pack was born again_  
><em>As the Wolves of Jorrvaskr <em>  
><em>To rule in life and serve in death<em>  
><em>As the moonlight bound hunter<em>

_And so the pack was born again_  
><em>As the Wolves of Jorrvaskr<em>  
><em>To rule in life and serve in death<em>  
><em>As moonlight's dark hunter<em>

"Very impressive," Eirik said. "I should have to learn that one. The Wolves of Jorrvaskr."

"Skjor taught it to me," Aela said. "He said that he learned it from Kodlak's predecessor and I in turn taught it to Farkas and Vilkas."

"But why that song in particular?" Eirik asked.

"It's a song of the Circle," Vilkas said. "Reminding us of our history."

"It's also to remind you of your duty," Aela stated.

"My duty," Eirik grimaced. "I have two and twenty men who think I'm the next Tiber Septim, my wounded huscarl, my wife who has been missing since my return to Skyrim, and now I have to reunite the Companions as well?" Eirik sighed. "How can one person do this?"

"If you really are Dragonborn..." Farkas interjected, but stopped when Vilkas pushed his shoulder.

"I may be Dragonborn," Eirik interjected. "But I am just one man."

"And we are your brothers and sisters of the shield," Aela added. "Vilkas, Farkas, myself, Torvar, Ria and now Hermir. Though our ultimate goal should be to return to Jorrvaskr and drink the cup of reunification with our brothers and sisters behind with Njada, we will stand by your side and fight for you..."

"As long as it's not against the Empire," Eirik groaned.

"Or against you," she added. "Or these green-horned snow-berries behind you. Now go to sleep, and don't worry. Wherever you need to go, we have your back."

Eirik smiled, the first in a long while. "That's comforting."

"It should be," Vilkas added. "We'll keep watch until midnight, and then go hunting and scout ahead. You'll need to know if the way before you is clear."

"And which way _are_ you going?" Farkas asked.

"Riften," Eirik repeated.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: We will be seeing more people join both factions of the Companions. Not just Hermir, since she was the apprentice of the second greatest smith in all of Skyrim and therefore would be well-suited to using the Skyforge [i bet one of you will say "but what about Adrianne?"], but several others as well. At least three of them you have already seen: but not the Guardians of Skyrim because they're now with the Blades, as I've said in the last story. They might reappear in this story, but they won't be joining the Companions.)<strong>

**(Once again, please review. Things will be getting extra-rocky in the next chapter and you don't want to miss out on any of this. Oh yes, and I broke 100,000 words with the last chapter. Yay me again!)  
><strong>


	28. Tragedy

**(AN: I'm very grateful for your reviews, but please, point out my logical and grammatical errors! I usually don't have time to fix everything since if I type it up off-line and then submit it to the fan-fic Doc Manager, ALL my work gets wiped except for the title! So I have to type all the stories while online or not at all, it's rather frustrating, and therefore i don't always have time to fix grammatical errors. Please, point them out! I might not always have time to fix them when I first read through my story, so please, point them out.)**

**(In other [good] news, I had some more inspiration for this chapter. Since, obviously, they are still in winter, the Rift - filled with deciduous aspen trees - would not look like Lothlorien. It would look more like the Forest of Dean from the film version of _The Deathly Hallows_. Really beautiful stuff. Also, I needed to get the Companions to have a bit more screen-time and, while it might not go over with several of you and may or may not be lore-friendly, I felt like I had to give Aela _some_ deficiency. I know she's a fan-favorite, but she seems to have so many things going for her, being the _de facto_ co-Harbinger and everything, I felt that she needed to be lacking somewhere!)**

* * *

><p><strong>Tragedy<strong>

When morning rose, Eirik found that the Circle had returned from their midnight hunt with news of the outlying land. The wild beasts were still mostly in their dens for the winter months, while any bandits had fled with the rumor of the Imperial Legion. Any who still remained were taken care of, but Eirik did not care by what means the Companions had brought this about. He had a long day ahead of him, one that would see him hopefully in the doors of Riften before the night fell. He then went about in the cold morning air awaking the others. They had one last trek before them ere they reached the walls of Riften.

As they passed further south on the plateau and the woods of the Rift appeared before them, they saw that the usually golden woods of the Rift were empty and truly in the winter. All the golden leaves lay in molding browns upon the ground beneath a foot of snow, while the trees gave off the appearance of silver-gray skeletons, seasoned with rime. This was not the Rift of the autumn days when Eirik first came here and all the trees were clad with gold. While this was not entirely unexpected, as the Circle had told him that the plateau of the Rift was covered in snow, it was indeed a surprise to see the Rift blanketed in ice and snow. Nevertheless, it meant that any one out and about would be easy to spot in the cold forest.

The cold weather also seemed to do wonders for those who were Nords in their party, meaning almost everyone. They were more alert, walked faster and breathed deeper. By mid-day, still clouded over, they neared the northern watch-towers of Riften. By Eirik's recommendation, they left the main road and made a rough line southward, trying to keep the scant woods between them and any unfriendly eyes in the towers that might take note their approach.  
>Without any great event, they soon arrived outside the gates of Riften at about mid-afternoon. To their right they could see Lake Honrich's shores having frozen, with the middle portion of the lake still like a mirror. As they prepared to reach the gates, Lydia approached Eirik.<p>

"I don't think we should just announce our name to the guards," she said. "When last I looked, the Empire had control of Riften."

"Aye," Eirik said. "But the war is over. Surely news has reached them now. Besides, how many of the soldiers do you think have gone off north for the siege?"

"If we plan on staying here," Galmar added. "It wouldn't be wise go in with our blue cloaks."

"Do we have enough blankets to hide any incriminating badges or cloaks?" Eirik asked.

"A few," added Galmar. "But it won't last long under a determined search."

"Nevertheless," Eirik said. "I must enter here."

"Well, if you _must_ enter," Galmar said. "I see no reason to endanger the lives of the men. We'll wait out here until you give us the signal to enter."

"Very well," Eirik said. "But I won't go into Riften alone. The Thieves Guild is still at large here."

"You're dressed in rags, my thane," said Lydia. "What would they try to steal from you, your staff?"

"I don't trust them as far as I can throw them, or Shout them as the case may be," Eirik added.

"Then we'll go with you," Aela said. "Everyone in Skyrim knows and respects the Companions. If you enter as the Harbinger of the Companions, searching for new members, it will doubtless go easier on you than if you enter at the head of a group of Stormcloak remnants."

"Aye," Eirik said. "But I feel that we need a new name. Ulfric Stormcloak is dead, his cause is ended."

"We will call ourselves Stormcloaks still to honor his memory," Thorald Grey-Mane spoke up.

"No, we need a new name," Eirik said. "One that will tell all those who hear that name that we are not for one man, but for all of Skyrim."

"Ulfric was for all of Skyrim," Galmar stated.

"We will talk of this when I return," Eirik said, turning to those around him. "Or when you are permitted to enter Riften. For now, who will accompany me into Riften?"

"I will go," Lydia added.

"So will I," said Aela.

"And I," Farkas added.

"I will as well," said Vilkas.

"If the Circle and the Harbinger are going," Ria said. "Then I am going. Might as well stay somewhere habitable, and the Bee and Barb would be better than the cold hard ground."

"Well, then," Torvar stated. "I sure as hell won't pass up the chance to visit the home of the Black-Briar family and taste their famous mead."

So it was that seven approached the gates of Riften. As they came to the gates, two Imperial guards approached to halt their passage.

"What brings you to Riften, traveler?" one asked.

"Cassius, show some respect!" the other guard added.

"Whatever for?" the first one retorted.

"Don't you see that there armor?" the second guard said, gesturing to Vilkas. "These here are the Companions."

"So?" asked the first soldier. "You're just a group of mercenaries, just like the Fighter's Guild."

"Don't be impugning the honor of the Companions, Cassius!" the second guard spoke. "They've been around longer than your Fighter's Guild in Cyrodiil. In fact, some say that the Fighters' Guild was inspired by the Companions."

"Rubbish, that," said the first guard, turning back to Eirik and the others, addressing Vilkas. "Are you their leader?"

"No," Vilkas replied. "He is." He pointed to Eirik.

The Colovian soldier snickered. "This one? He's not even armed or armored! He looks fit to lead a farm, not any group so mighty and noble as the Great Fighters' Guild of Tamriel!"

"Show some respect!" the second guard stated.

"Why? They're not my people, they're yours! Show respect for the both of us!" He turned back to Eirik and the others. "We're here to guard the gates of Riften, no matter who you are."

"Maven Black-Briar," Eirik began. "Has hired us for an important pest removal. Surely you wouldn't want to report to the Jarl that her time was wasted by two over-zealous gate-guards. I heard she has powerful friends in the Imperial City."

"Is that a threat?" the Colovian soldier retorted.

"Shh! Not so loud!" murmured the second guard, obviously a Nord. "Jarl Black-Briar has eyes and ears everywhere!"

"Stupid superstitious Nord," the first one said, rolling his eyes. "There's no way anyone has that much power, not even here in Skyrim."

"You watch what you say!" said the second guard.

"Or what?" the first one retorted. "You'll fight me? I'll have your number to Legate Fasendil, and nobody would believe you if you said I hit you first. Everyone in the Legion knows you Nords love starting brawls. Hell, all the camp-fights are started by Nord soldiers!"

The Nord lowered his head, while the other soldier turned to Eirik. "Well, what are you looking at? I'll get the gate open already!"

The gates were opened and Eirik and the others walked into the streets of Riften. They were lined with quite a few beggars, and they all kept their eyes on them and on their purses and pockets. Here and there fights would rise from one beggar having stolen the blanket of another or over a piece of food, which the guards attended to unenthusiastically. Other than the beggars, the streets of Riften were closed to all save a few sitting on the pier-like streets, fishing through holes drilled into the icy lake below. While they were walking, Eirik noticed someone dressed in a heavy winter cloak giving food and septims to some of the beggars on the streets. When he briefly turned his face to him, Eirik recognized him immediately.

"Aerin!" he called out.

Upon hearing the familiar voice, the Imperial turned and his expression lightened when he saw Eirik. He practically threw his arms around Eirik, then backed up when he realized the suddenness of the gesture and the look of surprise on Eirik's face.

"It's good to have you back in Riften, Eirik, old friend," Aerin said. "By the Eight, it feels like only yesterday when you came in here and riled up the Thieves Guild with your antics in the Ratways. I hope you bring good news..."

"No, only bad," Eirik replied. "But first tell me, where is Mjoll? Did she come back here?"

At this, Aerin's face fell and he turned around to his house, crammed narrowly in between the already cramped houses of Riften's dry-side. He made his way to the door and opened it, ushering them in out of the cold streets of Riften. One by one they filed in, with Torvar and Ria eager to be in out of the cold. Once the Circle entered, Lydia halted before the door, massaging the side of her head that had struck the base of the arch-way in Windhelm, leaving Eirik still outside.

"Can you please move?" Eirik asked.

"Hmm?" she returned. "Ohh! My bad." She stepped into the house, allowing Eirik to enter, closing the door behind himself.

"So tell me," Eirik said. "Is she here?"

"I'm sorry I haven't been around more often," Aerin began, speaking in a grim tone with head looking down. "The former guards of Riften have been running their raids on the Imperial garrison, and they've more or less recruited me to be their inside man whether I wanted to be or no. Because of this, my hands have been tied for a long while."

"Just answer my question," Eirik said, starting to get frustrated.

"Mjoll is not here, Eirik," Aerin replied, shaking his head. "But..." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a note. "I received this. I was told to give it to you."

"To me?" Eirik asked.

"It happened in the dead of night," Aerin said. "Someone put a knife to my throat and told me to give it to you. They gave a pretty good description of you: tall Nord with long dark hair and dark eyes, short beard. Though there are honestly quite a few people who fit that description. But they seemed to know your name as well. They said to give the note to one fitting that description who went by the name of Eirik and who calls himself Dragonborn."

Eirik took the letter and tore it open. The writing was in the Common tongue, measured and legible. There was no name on the front of the note, nor anywhere in the contents of the letter, but the actual contents made Eirik's blood run cold.

_To Eirik who calls himself Dragonborn,_

_I have taken back my wife Mjoll the Lioness, rightly ordained for me by the Eight and the Hist, from your theft. I give you no clues to where she has been liberated or any demands of money or persons, only the knowledge that you will never see or touch my wife again. Know that she will utterly forget you and come to love me as her true and only husband._

_PS - I have powerful friends. If you try to look for her, I will kill you._

_PPS - I have also learned that you defiled my beloved wife. For that, I will surely find you and kill you for this heinous rape of my wife and erase your seed from existence._

Eirik let the letter fall from his hands as he realized that, once again, he had failed. He had gone to Windhelm on a mad death-charge to Ulfric Stormcloak's aid instead of returning to the Tower of Dawn over Dawnstar. Perhaps, he wondered, if he had stayed in Dawnstar rather than hastening all to Eastmarch, he might have found Mjoll before this monster did and prevented her capture. But Mjoll was a strong warrior, how could she have been captured? Then he remembered that she was with child, whom this monster threatened to 'erase from existence.' And where was he to protect his beloved wife and unborn child?

Suddenly, and to the surprise of all, Eirik struck Aerin across the jaw with his fist, sending the smaller-framed and shorter Imperial sprawling onto the ground.

"Idiot!" Eirik shouted. "Impotent fool! Coward! Milk-drinking little shit!"

"What?" Aerin asked. "What did I do?"

"You let her be captured!" Eirik shouted.

"I didn't know where she was!" Aerin defended. "I couldn't have..."

"Excuses!" Eirik roared. "You-You could have done something. You were her friend, you-you loved her. You should have done something to protect her, anything! It was your duty as her friend!"

"My duty?" Aerin asked. "You're her husband, isn't that your duty?"

Eirik leaned over Aerin, fist raised to strike him again, but he halted. Every word that Aerin had said was true, and he realized in horror that the person he was angry at was not Aerin. In truth, there was nothing he could have done. He was here for a long time, afar off from the Pale, and had no means by which to leave Riften.

The one person Eirik was truly angry at was himself.

He had let her be captured. He should have been the one to do something. He was her friend, her lover and her husband. He should not have fled to Windhelm on a fruitless quest of glory and honor but hastened to her side to protect her from this monster. It was his duty as her husband. He could feel his eyes moisten and his throat constrict. Every fear he had felt when he told Thorald Gray-Mane of the death of Clan Gray-Mane he now felt again, only they were not half-thoughts and whispered fears; they were very real.

He did not notice as Ria helped Aerin onto his feet and Lydia picked up the letter. Aela took the letter but, being illiterate, handed it over to Vilkas who read to her and to Farkas.

"Why not send us to look for your wife, Harbinger?" Aela asked. "I've yet to compare battle-scars with her and, as I said last night, we are your shield-brothers and sisters. If this nameless milk-drinker stole your woman, he has offended all of us and we must repay him for this brazen act nine-fold!"

"You heard him, or her," Eirik said, his voice breaking. "They said they would kill whoever tried to search for Mjoll."

"It said they would kill you if _you_ went looking for Mjoll the Lioness," Vilkas added. "This person might be unaware that you're the Harbinger of the Companions. Our presence will be unnoticed, perhaps even overlooked, searching all the caves and bandit holes in Skyrim."

"My brother is right," Farkas said. "And we are more than you. We can cover more ground than just one."

"You don't even like me!" Eirik retorted.

"But you're my shield-brother, and our Harbinger," said Farkas. "Honor dictates that I fight your battles with you."

"We'll leave at once," Aela stated. "Searching for the Harbinger's Lioness and our hunt won't interfere greatly. Where was the last place you saw her?"

Eirik did not answer, being too overwhelmed by anger and grief. Lydia spoke up. "The Pale, around the Tower of Dawn just south of the town."

"That's where we'll start," said Aela. "We'll send you a message if we discover anything."

"We won't rest until we've found her," Farkas said. "That's a promise."

"I'm terribly sorry," Vilkas said. "Mjoll was a fine warrior. The Nine give you peace until we have returned with her." He walked over to Aerin and helped him off the floor, then opened the door back outside. Aela, Farkas, Ria and Torvar followed him outside, closing the door behind Eirik, Lydia and Aerin.

"Uh, can we have some time alone, please?" Lydia asked Aerin. The young Imperial nodded. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hit you." Aerin nodded again and walked back upstairs. When he had left, Lydia turned to Eirik, a look of sadness on her face.

"I'm sorry, my thane," she said. "I...I spoke too soon."

"Stay here," Eirik said to her, keeping his vision away from Lydia. She had been the one to tell him that Mjoll had not returned from the Tower of Dawn, but he had ignored her warnings, much to his dismay and sorrow. He turned towards the door and walked out. Looking this way and that, he saw only the beggars lining the frozen streets of Riften and, in the distance, the Companions on their way towards the gates of Riften. Doubtless they would go and collect Hermir and take her with them on the hunt for the Lioness.

He turned left and passed down the street, ignoring voices and cat-calls going after him as he went. Another left and he found himself approaching the gates of the Temple of Mara, where he and Mjoll had walked down the aisle united on the Twenty-Fifth day of Frostfall. But now there was no mirth in this hallowed stave temple, only the chanting of the priests about their daily devotions. Eirik threw the doors open, ran to the altar, with its image of Mara, hands held out in supplication with tears streaming from her eyes, and then he let loose the tears and cries from his own voice.

"What have I done?" he cried. "Is this not enough? Have I not served the Divines faithfully all the days of my life? Why must this happen to me?"

There was no immediate answer. Once more the voice of Crixus floated back into his mind, taunting him about how the Divines were false and that all his prayers were in vain. They felt in vain this moment, speaking only to a wooden wall and a golden statue. At length, Eirik threw himself upon the floor of the temple, caring not who heard him as he opened up his heart to the goddess of love and wept aloud.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Whether or not this is enough remains to be seen. But I've tied together another sub-plot that I had started in <em>The Dragonborn and the Lioness. <em>This is, of course, a very desperate time for Eirik. Him attacking Aerin was, of course, wrong and the others [Lydia, etc.] will have things to say about it, like how Ria objected to the use of Odahviing in their escape.)**

**(Any reviews, people? We've come to one of the big moments in this story, so now would be the best time to review.)**


	29. Sons of Skyrim

**(AN: The major problem with writing this story, aside from lack of motivation on the part of the author, is to make you, the audience, care about the situation. I feel like I'm going for a flop of epic proportions in this story because none of my reviewers care about what is going on in the story. They might care about Eirik and Mjoll being separated, but that's just a very general amount of caring, like the amount one would have over seeing a child realize that their parent has died before their very eyes. As far as the stakes go, i still feel like nobody really gives a shit. I mean, most of my reviewers are pro-Imperial, so they wouldn't care less if Skyrim was oppressed, they'd just see that it was for the greater good of the Empire and be happy with that.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Sons of Skyrim<strong>

Three days had passed since Eirik had returned to the Rift. No news had come from the Companions, out and about across the fields, valleys and hills of Skyrim, of the whereabouts of his beloved wife Mjoll the Lioness. With no news or any hint of where she might be, Eirik searched the outlying caves, crypts, mountains and known bandit camps in the Reach: all to no avail.

As for Galmar and the others, they had been secreted into Riften with the aid of Aerin. They were now living in the Ratways, the Bee and Barb and in Aerin's house. It was grim to say the least, for there was never enough food for all of them and Aerin had nothing but bad news to give them every time he came home in the evening. Apparently, the Thieves Guild were now active in greater force not only in the Rift but throughout Skyrim as well. It was no longer safe to walk the streets of Riften with anything of value and the guards, who reported to either the Imperial Legate in the Rift - a High Elf by the name of Fasendil who rarely left his camp out in the forests of the Rift - or Maven Black-Briar, were more concerned with bandits and the former hold guards.

"There's little hope of things ever looking up around Riften," Aerin added. "If only Mjoll were still here. She'd know what to do."

The young Colovian eyed Eirik disapprovingly, which brought Eirik shame, worry and anger. He guessed that Aerin may secretly be blaming him for Mjoll's kidnapping, which, by one way or another, was not far off from the truth. This made him both ashamed as well as fearful for Mjoll's safety, but also angered because part of him was determined to believe that he had done all he could over the past three days to look for Mjoll and that he was not at fault for her disappearance.

Aerin then went on with news he had learned of the goings on in Skyrim outside of the Rift. With the end of the rebellion, the Imperial Legions were now pulling out of Skyrim. The main army, he had been told, would be passing through Riften shortly. Furthermore, there were reports that General Flavius Tullius had been recalled to Cyrodiil, with the Haafingar Legate Rikke Toresdottir installed as military governor of Skyrim.

"Damned Imperials!" Galmar grumbled. "She's as much a spineless coward and a traitor as dead King Torygg!"

"At least she's a Nord!" Ralof added. "Perhaps we will see fewer assaults on the people of Skyrim by the Legions."

"Bah!" roared Galmar. "Rikke and the Legion are puppets of the Thalmor! If anything, we will be seeing _more_ attacks against Skyrim's people, especially in Eastmarch now that it has fallen to lawlessness."

"It would be too much to hope," said Thorald Grey-Mane. "That the Empire would actually try to take Windhelm back and give it to the people of Skyrim. Damned elf lovers!"

"While I don't share your sentiments," Aerin interjected. "I don't think that would be possible. The Empire will doubtless have their hands full."

"Explain," Eirik finally said.

"In the west," Aerin continued. "The Reachmen have taken Markarth."

"Shor's bones!" Galmar grumbled. "Is Skyrim beset on all sides by enemies?"

"Go on," Eirik said.

"From what I've heard in the Bee and Barb since I moved to Skyrim," Aerin began. "The Forsworn, that is the Reachmen, have always been a thorn in Skyrim's side since the days of Tiber Septim. But during the Great War, with most of the sons and daughters of Skyrim fighting the Dominion in Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, they took the Reach from Skyrim, including the city of Markarth."

"Yes, I know," Eirik said wearily, his mind filled with the memory of the words from the book 'The Bear of Markarth.' Once again he regretted being called the 'Bear of Eastmarch' by those he had encountered on his escape from Windhelm.

"Late last year," Aerin said. "There was a story about something happening at Cidhna Mine, the big silver mine owned in Markarth. It's ran by the Silver-Blood family, one of the most powerful families in Skyrim. It is said that they ran Markarth the way the Black-Briars ran Riften."

"Ran?" Thorald asked.

"The Silver-Blood family is dead," Aerin replied. "They were slaughtered when the Forsworn took Markarth on the eighth of this month."

"That was about when we returned to Skyrim," said Lydia. "After our little stint in Blacklight."

"What is the condition of Markarth?" Galmar asked. "The silver in Cidhna Mine could be useful and it is the gate to High Rock."

"There are conflicting reports," Aerin replied. "Some say that all is well, nay, better since the Reachmen have taken Markarth. Others say that there have been mass killings in the streets of Markarth. The streets are swimming in blood, they say. In any case, I've heard that the Legion sent some soldiers west to protect Haafingar in case the worst should happen."

"Some fine soldiers the Empire has!" Galmar scoffed. "Sharing the movements of their troops at the tavern tables!"

"It was a relative of a soldier I spoke to," Aerin said. "We...had a few drinks."

"Even so," Galmar continued. "Sharing secrets of the Imperial troops' movements? Quite the disciplined soldier the Empire has!"

"Well, what do you expect?" Aerin replied. "He was a Nord."

"Watch your tongue, Imperial milk-drinker!" Galmar growled.

* * *

><p>The day wore on with little occurring besides general restlessness among those living in Aerin's house. Eirik decided to take a stroll through the town of Riften to breathe in the clean winter air. Aerin's house was stuffy and packed with many loud, ornery warriors and he needed a break from them. He had no coin on his person, not even any weapons so to speak. He had had to surrender his staff to a guard the day after his arrival in town, as the new laws stated that no one who was not of the city guard should bear any weapons.<p>

While he was leaning against the rail, looking down at the fishermen hanging their lines down into holes in the ice, when suddenly he heard shouts. He looked north, towards the gates of Riften, and saw that they were being opened. Through them he saw the Imperial Legion marching on its way towards the city of Riften, banners caught high as they slowly approached. Trying to look inconspicuous, he made his way to Aerin's house, where he saw Ralof and Galmar stepping out of Aerin's house to see the approaching army.

"Shor's balls!" Galmar said. "Will they not leave us alone? Ulfric, we should prepare to defend ourselves, give them a proper welcome if they've come for us!" But then Galmar turned to Eirik and his face fell.

"We can do nothing," Eirik said, keeping his eyes trained on the Imperial troops as they now entered the city. As they made their way to the square, Eirik followed them, with Ralof and Lydia following him as he kept under an overhanging balcony to watch the Imperial troops. At the front of the column, Eirik saw General Tullius, riding into the city like a conqueror. Behind him rode a high elf, clad in the garb of the Imperial Legion. Knowing the history the Empire and the Dominion had, it angered Eirik that the Legion would let a high elf, known enemies of the Empire, fight under their banner.

At last the main group of Imperial cavalry halted in the square of Riften, forming a barrier beyond which Eirik could not see. He guessed that Tullius was there from having seen him, but who else was there with him behind the group of horsemen, Eirik could not tell.

"People of Rifton," said General Tullius, using the common Colovian version of the name of Riften. "My men have returned from Windhelm after a great victory for your people against the traitor Ulfric Stormcloak." All the voices in the streets of Riften cheered at this, all save for the voices of Eirik, Lydia and Ralof.

"We are weary," Tullius continued. "We humbly beg the Jarl of Rifton to allow my troops to be quartered in the city for a week until we are ready to make the full return to Cyrodiil."

"You are most welcome, General Tullius," the voice of Maven Black-Briar sounded.

Eirik turned aside, back towards Aerin's house. There was no choice and there would have been no choice if anyone other than Maven Black-Briar was Jarl of Riften. From what Eirik remembered from the prelude to the vain peace summit, the Empire pressed its right over all the loyal holds to quarter troops at will. If the Jarl had refused, Tullius would doubtless have taken the quartering by force.

* * *

><p>That evening, the house of Aerin was packed to the brim by the ex-Stormcloaks. They had been evicted from the Bee and Barb by the Imperial Legions quartering in the city. There had been several brawls and nine of the twenty had been wounded, but there were no casualties. Now they were telling Eirik and Galmar of those things which had happened in the Bee and Barb.<p>

"They drove us out like cattle!" said one. "And the inn-keeper did nothing!"

"Of course he did nothing!" another added. "You can't trust them damn Argonians for nothing!"

"Aye!" another added. "What have they got to hide from everybody?"

"I saw 'em going over to the Bunkhouse," another added. "Dragged a young Nord woman out by her hair and let some of their soldiers have their way with her. It's mad, I tell you!"

"I saw the soldiers throwing themselves into every house they could find," another older man added. "Is nothing sacred in Skyrim anymore?"

"Do you see?" Galmar asked, turning to Eirik. "Our people demand freedom from the oppression of the Empire. This is no false adversary, a face a thousand miles away. This is a cowardly Empire, bloated on its stolen victory, eating the fruit of our land as if it is their right!"

"Skyrim for the Nords!" the old man shouted. This received more than a few cheers from those in the room, so much that Eirik feared that they would be heard.

"I cannot fight your battles for you," Eirik said to them. "I have my own battles to fight."

"You know the danger the Thalmor face," Lydia spoke up. "You were there at Solstheim."

"What were those damn elves doing on Solstheim?" Galmar asked. "There ain't no Talos-worshipers on Solstheim, not anymore at least!"

"They were after the enchanted ice of the Skaal," Eirik answered. "They were after the stalhrim."

"Enchanted weapons," Galmar said. "More elf magic! They're preparing for another war! We can't let that happen, can we?" Cries of 'no' came from those around them. He then turned to Eirik. "What do you say?

"If I _must_ lead," Eirik said through clenched teeth. "There will be no mistreating of non-Nords under my command!" Several voices clamored in disapproval. "This is my one request!"

"Them dark elves didn't give a damn about mistreating our people in Windhelm!" Ralof added. "I saw people dragged out of their homes, beaten beyond all recognition and left to bleed to death in the streets. That's the truth of the matter!"

"You can't ask any self-respecting Nord," the old Stormcloak said. "To kiss the arse of an elf, not after what they did to our people in the Great War, and what they're still doing to us through the Empire!"

"Ours should be to defend our own first and foremost," Galmar said to Eirik. "If a wolf or a bear enters your home to kill your loved ones, would you let it ravage them because resisting would offend the beast or would you defend what is rightfully yours?"

The room seemed to grow tense though some of the ex-Stormcloaks were cheering at what Galmar had said. Eirik, meanwhile, turned to Galmar and punched him in the face. He recoiled, but was not knocked down. Eirik was strong, but so was Galmar, and the blow only broke Galmar's lower lip.

"Don't you _dare_ speak about my loved ones, Galmar!" Eirik retorted. "I still have not forgotten how much you derided my actions in my trips to Windhelm, and now Ulfric isn't here to protect you!"

"I want you to _do_ something, instead of sitting here and whining like a milk-drinker!" Galmar retorted. Eirik raised his fist. "Do you think striking me again will silence me? I endured much more than that in the Great War!"

"Did the dark elves care about who was angered or who died when they took Windhelm?" Ralof asked. "Did the high elves care about who was angered when they forced the Empire to sign the White-Gold Concordant?"

"Your concern is admirable," Thorald stated, speaking to Eirik. "But it is something our enemies will not afford us."

"And if we are better than them," Eirik said in retort. "Then why do you ask me to do warfare like them?"

"Plenty of time," Galmar said, massaging his jaw. "To talk of peace and reparations once the weapons have been put down and the fighting's over."

"Aren't you all tired of fighting?" Eirik asked.

"A true Nord never tires from battle," Galmar stated. "For that is his path to Sovngarde."

"You're right, Galmar," Eirik said, then turned to the others. "If a beast enters the home, it is our duty to defend what is ours from it. Therefore I ask you all to return to your homes. Defend what is yours from the beast in the West. The war is lost."

"Balls!" the old Stormcloak exclaimed. "The war against the Empire and their elvish masters will never be lost, not while there are still sons and daughters of Skyrim to defend what is rightfully ours!" Those around him cheered their approval.

"We were willing to forsake all," Ralof spoke up. "Family, loved ones and the comforts of home, to fight for what we believe in. Is that not enough to show the measure of our resolve?"

"And what do _you_ believe in, I ask you?" Eirik asked. "What is the nature of your resolution?"

"That Skyrim deserves to decide her own destiny," Galmar stated.

"That no emperor hundreds of miles away tells us who we can or cannot worship!" Ralof added.

"That honor and tradition mean more than money and fame," Thorald added.

"That a weak empire," the old Stormcloak added. "Who bows to the whims of the Dominion, making all those deaths in the Great War in vain, is no empire at all!"

"That Skyrim," a female Stormcloak spoke up. "Belongs to those who gave their blood over thousands of years to defend and protect it."

All of those in the room cheered. Eirik was both humbled and ashamed by their response and both for the same reason: that they were willing to lay down their lives for Skyrim and for her people. Yet he was ashamed in that he knew in his heart there was hesitation and it made him less a man and less a Nord in his own eyes for his hesitation. At once his heart was moved and he stood a bit taller.

"Very well," he began. "Then let it stand here and now that we will not rest until we have ended the tyranny of the Empire and the threat of the Dominion in our land. We are no longer Stormcloaks. Ulfric is dead: let no man, in Skyrim or outside of her, say that we fight for one man's legacy, but that we fight for all of Skyrim! We shall take up that name which we bore in our infancy, before Ulfric united us: we shall be called the Sons of Skyrim, for it is for her that we fight!"

They cheered so loudly that Eirik worried that they would be discovered. Nevertheless, so great was his own elation that he did not quiet them. Several took up singing 'the Age of Oppression', keeping time by pounding upon the dining room table or the floor with boot and fist. Galmar, meanwhile, turned back to Eirik.

"That was quite a speech," he said. "Though you certainly took your time in deciding the obvious."

"We both know," Eirik replied. "That I'm not the man for this. I'm no leader."

"Ulfric once thought as you did," Galmar said. "I told him that he was the one who could do what no one else could do, what no one else dared to do: he was the one who could do the unthinkable in these dark times." He placed his hand on Eirik's shoulder. "You are such a man as well. I should name you Bear-Friend and give you a bear-skin yourself to match your new name, Dragonborn."

"Thank you," Eirik said. "But I would sooner have armor and a sword again. I feel exposed without a weapon."

"Haha haha," laughed Galmar. "A true Nord at heart, I see. Well now, we must plan our next move. Should we strike at the Empire now, while they're in our midst?"

"No," Eirik said. "They outnumber us vastly. There would be nothing gained save a swift venture to Sovngarde if we died here. We must wait until they leave the Jerall Mountains and return to Cyrodiil."

"Aye, and then what?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Eirik asked. "You're the experienced officer, I'm just the Dragonborn. I don't know how to lead armies, start rebellions or fight a war."

Galmar called for a map, to which Lydia produced a map of Skyrim which she had kept hidden on her person for whenever her thane might call for it. Galmar then unraveled the map, placed it on the table nearby where Eirik and Lydia stood, and pointed first to the east.

"The dark elves have taken Windhelm," he said, then traced his finger up north. "And there has been no word from Winterhold yet. But your friend and our host spoke of Markarth falling to the madmen of the Reach..." He traced his finger across the map to the tiny point marked by a shield with a ram's horns emblazoned upon it: Markarth. "According to our last intelligence, the Empire controls Whiterun, Falkreath, Morthal, Dawnstar and Solitude. Any attack against the three northernmost holds, especially Solitude, would have to go through Whiterun..." He pointed at the shield with the horse's head upon it, situated at the north-western edge of the Throat of the World. "...which is easily defensible. Either way, it will be an uphill battle."

"Not exactly," Eirik said. He pointed to the shield south of Whiterun with deer antlers upon it. "Falkreath is uphill of Whiterun. From there we could not only stage potentially hopeful attacks on Whiterun, but we could watch the passes leading into Bruma County in Cyrodiil."

"Those mountain passes," Galmar stated. "Could be held long against an enemy host." He turned and smiled to Eirik, showing at least a few teeth missing from his old war days. "See? You could be a leader yet."

Eirik then pointed to Riften, the shield with crossed daggers in the south-eastern corner of the map. "But we are here, and there is still a long way between here and Falkreath, including the mountains to the west." He pointed to the mountains which separated the Rift from Falkreath.

"There is one pass through those mountains," Galmar stated. "Or so I've been told."

"But we will have to secure Riften first," Eirik said, then suddenly he realized what he had just said. Once more his memories of this place and Mjoll's constant battles with the Thieves Guild, or at least her recounting of those battles to him, re-entered his mind.

"What?" Galmar asked, noticing Eirik's lengthy pause.

"We will have to secure Riften first," he repeated. "But we can't do that without the Black-Briars driven out. But they won't go without a fight, and rumor has it, they have the Thieves Guild on their side."

"What are a few thieves to us?" Galmar asked.

"Quite a bit, actually," Eirik added. "You know, they had the last Jarl in their pocket."

"Laila the Law-giver?" Galmar asked.

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "I have it on good authority that she withheld tribute of men and weapons to Ulfric's war effort."

"But she's not the Jarl anymore," Galmar replied.

"I know," Eirik said. "And now we have to remove the current Jarl from office and replace her with someone else. Someone with no ties to the Imperial City or the Thalmor."

"I agree," Galmar nodded. "But how shall we go about this?"

"I may have a plan." Eirik replied, a sly smile appearing across his face.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: You guys have no idea how hard this chapter was to put out! Not only with putting out flames from my latest deviation, <em>A Thousand Years in Darkness<em>, but because I had to convince all of you [unsuccessfully, i still feel] of the rightness of opposing the Empire playing proxy-police for the Thalmor. As you will doubtless see, this will set up a reversal of roles from what we saw with Crixus and Eirik in the beginning. And it will be something, as you will also see, through which they can connect [i know it sounds odd, but you'll see why])**

**(I think, since Ulfric is dead, I'm going to take him out of the list of characters in the story, since he didn't really have a big role. But I will still keep the title, since that is a title which Eirik is more or less given after the Siege of Windhelm. I'm also wondering if I should do a cutaway, like i did in the first chapter. The first time it was to set up our villain so that it's not just a face-less bad-guy [no, i won't go down the whole "misunderstood villain" routine, because that's been done to death], but I feel like he should get some attention.)  
><strong>


	30. A Caged Lioness

**(AN: Here's a chapter that will not begin with "my brother said...", mostly because that's become a thing and i'm going to try and make it _not_ a thing, and because you just want the story doubtless. I eventually decided to delete _A Thousand Years in Darkness_ because i have better things to do than feed trolls and because it gave me a new desire to finish this story, which i shall.)**

**(I eventually decided to have it split off in two separate-but-interconnected stories because it would service our characters' development. Thank you for the reviews, also, and i'm sure you wouldn't mind if the Nords all acted like how they do in the game, that's okay. But don't i DARE touch the Imperials or the Dunmer or the Argonians! Lol, but i had a character in the next chapter whom you might like since their motivation/disdain for the main character is not based on race but because...well, you'll see)**

* * *

><p><strong>A Caged Lioness<strong>

Mjoll's sleep was filled with nightmares. The Tower of Dawn, where the Dunmer priest Erandur had led her to seek out a final end to the nightmares plaguing the people of Dawnstar, was under siege. Orcs were everywhere, coming out of the walls, the ground, their faces, their tusks, their hands, their weapons and their bodies painted with blood and their eyes burning with a furious, murderous rage. Then came Erandur's face, high-boned and jagged, from out of the mists.

_"Don't worry, my lady,"_ he said. _"They are not real. It's just the miasma, it will wear off in time."_

Then his face disappeared and another one took his place. A woman dressed in the shadows of the night, who bore a broad crown upon her head, which was a skull. When she spoke, it was at once the small, innocent whimper of a young child and yet however soft her voice was, it had such weight as though a host at war were shouting in her ears.

_"Do not listen to him!"_ the foul woman replied. _"He is a liar and a traitor. He will betray you just as he betrayed his friends. Kill him now while there is still a chance!"_

Then the nightmares shifted once again. She saw Eirik standing within a sea of darkness and he seemed to be looking for her, though his face was turned away from her. From out of the darkness a bear appeared, which he wrestled down to the ground and, for a while, seemed to master. Then from out of the darkness voices and images appeared. She saw once more the face of Thelgil, whom she had also met in the dungeons of Solitude so many months ago, standing among the others: images she knew to be daedric princes and, among them, a dragon. All of them seemed desperate to drag Eirik down into the abyss with them, tearing him away from her forever. She strained and strained but something was holding her back, keeping her away from her beloved...

With a jolt, she awoke, her hand held out before her as if reaching for something. She was still alive: had she merely dreamed what she saw? Were the nightmares not defeated? No, she remembered herself and Erandur finally overcoming the skull-faced Staff of Corruption at the center of the Tower of Dawn: this was not the direct work of Vaermina, the prince of nightmares, but, as all nightmares are, subject to the influences of what she had seen in the Tower.

She looked around and realized that she was in a cave. Light fell down upon her from a hole in the roof of the cave at least twenty feet above her head, and the entrance to the cave had two torches on either side, but they gave off little light beyond the mouth of the cave tunnel. The room itself was bare save for a blanket and a small pile of hay lying beneath her.

Her wakefulness did not go unnoticed for long. Echoing voices farther down the tunnel were heard and Mjoll guessed that her captors were coming for her. Unfortunately, she found that her feet and hands were bound and Grimsever was gone. She had no means by which to defend herself other than her own strength, most of which was bound. She turned towards the cave entrance and waited.

Moments passed before anyone entered the room. At last, the shape of an apprentice mage, hooded and cloaked, entered the cavern. The figure knelt down before Mjoll and then, reaching up to pull back the hood, revealed himself: it was an Argonian. From the bony protrusions on the back of his chin and the two horns coming from the back of his head, Mjoll guessed that he was a male Argonian. For a while his yellow eyes stared unblinking at her, merely drinking her in through the eyes.

"Who are you?" Mjoll asked. "Where am I? What do you want?"

"All in good time, my love," the Argonian replied. Definitely a male by the voice. "I have rescued you from the abuse of that apish pretender. You do not need to be afraid: he will never harm you again."

"That apish pretender, as you put it," Mjoll replied, remembering who this person was from so long ago. "Is my husband."

"He stole you from me, your rightful husband," said the Argonian. "The Eight long ago destined that we should be together, and lo and behold, fate has made it come to pass! I rejoice at this glorious circumstance!"

"You mean you kidnapped me?" Mjoll queried.

"My love!" the Argonian retorted, sounding genuinely shocked. "I am hurt that you would even think I would stoop to such lows! I did not kidnap you, I rescued you from an abusive and unlawful relationship to another dumb, brutish bigot."

"It was lawful," Mjoll retorted. "There was a ceremony at the Temple of Mara in Riften. And Eirik is not a bigot!"

"Most of you Nords are," said the Argonian. "Besides, he's a Stormcloak, isn't he? And all Stormcloaks are bigots. You will find that I, Tarvis, am a much more open-minded and loving husband."

"You're wasting your time," Mjoll replied.

"I have all the time I need," said Tarvis.

"Did you really think," Mjoll asked. "That kidnapping me, tying me up in a cave and stealing my Grimsever would somehow cause me to forget my husband and suddenly elicit overwhelming feelings of love towards you?"

"Of course not," Tarvis retorted. "The spell he has you under is very powerful. Surprised that such an ignorant brute could have successfully used such a spell. Nevertheless, I will not rest until I have broken the spell and you belong to your rightful husband: me."

"I belong to no one," Mjoll replied.

"I see that we have much work to do," said Tarvis. "Not to worry, my dear, for the Dragonborn is a true hero of Tamriel and will not rest until you are freed from this dreadful curse. In the meanwhile, unfortunately, I had to tie your hands and feet and remove your weapons: you are still under his spell and do not yet know what is good for you."

"Release me," Mjoll stated. "And I will spare your life."

"It hurts me that you speak to your husband in such a manner," Tarvis said in a hurt tone.

"You are not my husband!" Mjoll retorted.

"And who is your husband, hmm?" he asked. "Some ignorant, brutish, bigoted snow-back who sent you off to play in the Tower of Dawn while he went and gambled, whored and drank?"

"Eirik wouldn't do that..." Mjoll retorted, then remembered back many weeks ago to a certain event in Riften. It suddenly dawned upon her that she had indeed rushed into marrying Eirik and she might not have known him as well as she thought she did. Had he indeed only gone to Solstheim?

"_I_ will always stand by your side," Tarvis said, kneeling at Mjoll's side. "As a true husband should."

With that, Tarvis departed into the darkness of the tunnel at the far end of the cavern, leaving Mjoll alone to think on what had been said between them. At once she was repulsed by his impulsiveness in assuming that she was weak enough to be duped and that she did not know what was good for herself. He spoke of love and understanding, but he seemed to think that she was as simple-minded as he claimed Eirik was.

Why, then, she asked herself, could she not get the words he had said out of her mind? She had no reason to mistrust Eirik: he had done much to insure that he was, in her eyes, trustworthy. And yet once more they were being drawn apart, now by the renewed Civil War. But she had chosen to help the people of Dawnstar; it was her decision to help them, and Eirik's decision to help the people of Solstheim. Everything seemed to be in order: why, then, did she entertain Tarvis' words?

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Yes, your guess was correct. Those who had read <em>The Dragonborn and the Lioness<em> would have known where I was going. As far as a mage Dragonborn, i don't think that would be a good idea. My brother says [there i go again!] that magic is a one-size-fits-all fix/explanation for anything and everything in Tamriel and that the Voice is overpowered as it is. While Tarvis the Argonian mage might have learned the Voice, he would not be as powerful as Eirik or Crixus, nor could he be able to absorb dragon souls. Personally, i feel that magic and the Voice shouldn't be used together because that _would_ be an overpowered enemy.)**

**(Don't forget to review. Also, to whom it may concern, Brelyna Maryon from the College of Winterhold will appear later on in either this story, Crixus' story or the spin-off _Winterhold_, which will feature Marcurio and Crixus in the College of Winterhold quests. She won't be as "bigoted" as other Dunmer in the story: just thought you'd like to hear that. [i just feel that a people who legalize slavery and don't even like members of their own race who are not of the right house wouldn't be very open-minded].)  
><strong>


	31. The Taking of Falkreath I

**(AN: I have bad news and worse news: the bad news is that, somehow, i replaced Chapter 31 with Chapter 32. The worse news is that i don't have a back-up for Chapter 31, which means that i'll have to go back to the VERY beginning and rewrite the entire chapter word for word, based on nothing else but the VERY rough outline of what happened.)**

**(To whoever made all those guest reviews, that's kind of the point, that Crixus has no aim in mind. As far as our [hated] Skyrim characters, in case you didn't look at a map of _Skyrim _[like how you didn't read the end of _The Dragon and the Bear_, apparently], Volkihar is north of both Whiterun and Falkreath. Eirik and his closest companions [Mjoll, Lydia, Serana, etc.] went south from there to Whiterun, after which they went to Falkreath. Lydia was never dismissed.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Taking of Falkreath I<strong>

The last week of Sun's Dawn was cold and slushy in the Rift, with rain and snow falling at the same time. Even for Nords, accustomed to the harsh and variable weather of Skyrim's winters, it would be a dangerous quest to take Falkreath in this weather. Therefore the Sons of Skyrim remained in Riften, always in secret. The Black-Briar Family had Riften wrapped tightly around their fingers and with the Imperial Legions garrisoned in the city, they were in danger for their very lives every minute of every day.

But the Sons of Skyrim had not been idle during their wintering in Riften. Tullius' main force left the city the day after they had arrived and their departure was watched. Eirik sent two of the number of the Sons of Skyrim, such as were light-footed and keen-eyed, to watch the Red Legions from afar: a man named Halldor and a young woman named Ulli volunteered to brave the snows to track the Legions' movement. After three days, they returned to the Rift with tidings of what they had seen.

"General Tullius left Skyrim by the mountain passes south of here," said Ulli. "He will be in Cheydinhal by now. But the weather we've had down here in the hold has been worse up in the mountains. Avalanches have sealed up the passes behind Tullius' flight."

"So they will be slow in responding to an attack on Falkreath, eh?" Galmar muttered. "This is good news, Dragonborn. The time to strike is now!"

"Soon, Galmar," Eirik replied. "Very soon."

Aside from spying on the Red Legions, Eirik and the Sons of Skyrim did their best to maintain their supplies and weapons. This was not an easy task in the slightest, for, in accordance with Imperial Law - which law had not been instituted in Skyrim before the Legion came in - all forges were closed to the public and all weapons were to be confiscated by the town guards.

"This," said Galmar. "Will be the first thing to be changed once we've taken Falkreath and the Rift. Iron and steel are part of a Nord's blood and should not be denied us."

For the next two days, the Sons of Skyrim prepared for the venture over the mountains to the west and into the hold of Falkreath. By Galmar's instruction, Ralof and a younger ex-Stormcloak soldier named Bjorn were sent west to scout out the passes leading through Helgen. From what they gathered, the weather was just as relentless in Arcwind Pass as in the Jeralls. The planned attack would have to be postponed until the passes to the west cleared up again. As soon as the weekend came to a close, Eirik sent Halldor and Ulli back westward across the white, rime-clad woods of the Rift to see if the passes had cleared. By Turdas eve they returned, with the news that Arcwind and the pass by Helgen had finally been freed from the blizzard-like snows that had drowned them. The attack would go ahead, albeit somewhat delayed.

Fredas, the sixth of First Seed, early in the 202nd year of the Fourth Era. In the morning, the Sons of Skyrim would depart in three carts, heading west towards Falkreath, for their great and dangerous task. Over the past several days, Aerin and the Sons of Skyrim worked tirelessly to keep the weapons of the Sons of Skyrim safe and smuggle them into the carts for the voyage. Now the day was coming to a close, with the sun setting alight the chunks of ice floating upon the surface of Lake Honrich. Gazing out into the sunset sky was Eirik, his mind heavy with the thoughts of what would surely take place early the next morning.

"My thane?" a familiar voice greeted. He turned briefly over his shoulder and espied his huscarl Lydia walking behind him, a fur cloak draped over her shoulders.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Eirik asked, his grim voice belying the doubt in his heart.

"Yes, my thane," Lydia returned. "But, well, it's about tomorrow that I would like to talk with you about, if I may."

"Yes?"

"Are you sure about this, sir?" Lydia asked. "I mean, about going to Falkreath and taking it for the...Sons of Skyrim?"

"As sure as I am about anything I do these days," Eirik sighed. He seemed to sigh far too often these days.

"I was just wondering, though," Lydia replied. "I mean, why can't we go back to Dawnstar and look for Mjoll? I thought you would have done that when you found out about her before we broke the siege of Windhelm. Since I am your sword and shield, I did not press the matter and went with you regardless. But now that we're free, why not go after her now?"

"Tell me something," Eirik replied. "Were you fulfilling your duties as my huscarl when you followed me into Skuldafn and beyond?"

"Yes and no, my thane," Lydia returned. "Yes, I was following you, but not only to defend you. As I said, I wanted to win my own renown, and I did. And you should be grateful that I went with you: there were several times when that black dragon might have killed you were it not for me."

"I know," Eirik returned. "And I am grateful for your faithful service. Obviously, were I not grateful, I would have not forgiven you for sneaking away with me and you would be punished for your brazenness." He turned back to Lydia and grinned. "It's partly because of your brazenness that I enjoy your company."

"And here I thought it was just for the sex and the occasional carrying of your burdens," Lydia teased.

"One time, Lydia!" groaned Eirik. "It was one time!"

"And you never told her," Lydia replied, a smirk on her face. "Did you?"

"No," Eirik sighed, his face suddenly falling down in a frown. "And now she's dead, or might as well be dead."

"We don't know that she's dead, sir," Lydia replied. "She disappeared, yes, so we should start at Dawnstar and..."

"And what, then?" Eirik retorted. "Trudge through the snows of late winter looking for her, with no way of knowing where she might be?" His lip quivered as he at last despaired. "There's no hope of finding her, even less hope that she'll be alive."

"Why, my thane?" asked Lydia. "She's a strong woman, a fine warrior of our kin-folk if ever I saw one."

"And I stole the only thing that would have kept her safe," Eirik replied grimly, looking back towards the icy-choked waters of Lake Honrich. "There's little chance that she can survive now, especially considering her condition."

Lydia was the one who sighed: she wished that Eirik could forget his fear and despair and choose plainly, just as a Nord should. But he was her thane and lord, and had to follow and serve him in all things. With nothing more to say, she wrapped the cloak tighter around her shoulders, then prepared to walk back towards Aerin's house.

"Will you be ready for tomorrow?" Eirik called back.

"You know me, my thane," Lydia smirked. "Wherever you go, I've got your back."

* * *

><p>The sun had not yet risen on the Rift when the Sons of Skyrim made their flight. The wagons they had requisitioned for this task sat in the Riften stables outside of the city. Including Lydia, they numbered some two and twenty and they would depart from Riften in like manner: each cart would be driven by one in disguise, while the carts themselves would be covered with thick, fur-lined tarps that could resist the cold in the upper regions of the passes. Within the carts the others would go, six to a cart and five in one, with Halldor and Ulli leading the van and rearguards on their swift scouting horses.<p>

In the darkness of early morning they departed, no more than two at a time, taking the secret path by which Aerin had smuggled them into the city. They dared not risk sending one back each time to see if they could make the dash across the darkened streets safely, nor would they risk any signal for fear of being discovered. Each time they departed, consternation seized Eirik: had they indeed made it out or were they intercepted somewhere in between?

At length, there were only two people left in Aerin's house: Eirik and Lydia. The huscarl was examining her gear, which had been secreted from the keeping of the guards: her sword and shield were still in good condition, as was her armor. She had not gotten the dents and scratches that Alduin had made in it: these she would bear with pride, for having faced down the firstborn of Akatosh. Eirik, meanwhile, was looking out the window, uttering an annoyed groan every now and then.

"What's wrong, my thane?" asked Lydia.

"I haven't got a blade," Eirik sighed.

"You know," Lydia replied. "I would complain about the lateness of this request, but we barely got these out of Mistveil Keep as it is." She held up her blade. "Getting you a proper sword would be nigh impossible. Besides..." She chuckled. "...who needs a blade when you can do the things you do?"

"I'd much rather fight with my hands than my Voice," Eirik replied. Minutes later Aerin came out from the basement, a small bag of food and a bottle of water for Lydia.

"It's not much," he said. "But you'll need it on the road ahead."

"My thanks to you," Eirik replied. "And...my apologies for striking you. I acted foolishly."

"All is forgiven, friend," Aerin dismissed. "Now you two need to go, or the sun will rise and you'll be spotted."

"Oh, shit, you're right!" Lydia replied. In a hurry she heaved the bag and bottle over her shoulder, then made for the door.

"Divines smile on you, both of you," he said to them. "I pray that Mjoll is safe, and that you will find her soon."

Eirik made no response, but followed Lydia out of the door and, keeping low, ran behind her across to the other side of the street. There they went through the secret passageway into the stables, then, making sure they were not seen, climbed into the back of the cart with Galmar, Ralof, Falke and Thorald. The cart gave a lurch, then it began to rumble along the road southward. Inside the cart was warm, warmer than the cold of late winter, but stuffy from the six bodies within. Lydia groaned, but Falke, whom she believed to be slightly 'touched' by Sheogorath, chuckled.

"Might as well get used to it," he laughed. "We have two days of this ahead of us, right?"

Lydia rolled her eyes, then squirmed her way closer to Eirik. If she was going to be in a warm, stuffy cart for two days on end, she might as well be closest to the one person she actually trusted above all the others.

The three carts rumbled along at a slow pace for an hour and a half, until the sun finally rose above the Velothi Mountains. At this point, they turned off the road and began to travel through the snowy, trackless woods to the west and north of Lake Honrich. The plan was to stay off the southern road, as that would most surely be watched. Any Imperial scouts would have an easy time detecting their approach on the main road, but not off the road. Though it meant that their going would be slow and doubtless dangerous off the road, with their few numbers, Eirik determined to err on the side of safety rather than to come to the mountain passes and find them held against them in fastness and strength.

As the day wore on, the three carts suddenly came to a halt. From beyond, Eirik heard Halldor arguing with someone outside. Nearby, he could feel Galmar shifting where he lay, reaching for his axe.

"Bandits," grumbled Galmar.

"Take arms," Eirik whispered. "We might be able to drive them off."

"Shh!" Lydia shushed. "Listen!"

They remained quiet for a while, as the renegades above continued arguing. Throughout the argument, Halldor maintained that he was a merchant and that he had nothing in his carts worth stealing.

"That so, eh?" the bandit queried. "Well, then, I suppose you wouldn't mind if I took a look inside, would you?"

Footsteps were heard just near the right side of the cart where Eirik, Galmar and Lydia were hidden. Eirik shifted towards that side, a thought coming into his mind. The huge woolen tarp was removed and Eirik reached up with his hand, seized the bandit by the neck, and bashed his face against the wooden edge of the cart.

A cry went up and from behind the trees around them came a host of bandits. Eirik shouted in retort and the two other carts were uncovered, the Sons of Skyrim taking up their weapons to defend their assault. The bandits were soon being pushed back, their numbers falling one by one as the Sons of Skyrim, furious from being holed up in Riften, under the tyranny of the Red Legions, let their rage out on these outlaws. After seven bandits colored the snow with their blood and three took grievous wounds, the remaining five dropped their weapons and fled. Once they were gone, Eirik and Lydia examined the spot while the others cleaned their blades and returned to the carts.

"That went well," Lydia remarked. "These bandits must have been very weak indeed. Come, my thane, let's strip the bodies. We may find some weapons among them to your liking."

These bandits must have fallen on hard times this winter, for they had little coin among them. Those who had bows had enough arrows to be salvaged for the group. Eirik found a steel great-sword among a particularly large Nord, which he scrutinized in the late afternoon sun.

"Hmm," he sighed. "It's not the Great-sword of the Skaal, but it will have to do for now."

* * *

><p>They made camp that night on the shores of Lake Honrich, eating sparingly of the food they had brought with them from Riften. The journey now was easy, but once they reached the mountain passes, things would become even more difficult. Wolves, bandits and trolls were more than enough trouble, but the winds and snows would make the mountain journey even more dangerous and they would need all of their strength for that road. They posted a watch to guard against any other assaults while the others slept inside the carts, which were the warmest.<p>

In the morning, they ate a light breakfast, then hurried on with their carts westward. They made better time this day than the previous one, crossing Lake Geir at its southernmost end before rejoining the road and carrying on towards the mountain pass that would lead them to Helgen. The journey became suddenly harder once they reached the mountains: though the blizzards had indeed subsided, the roads were deeply clad in snow and winds whipped the horses and the riders as they pushed on. Twice wolves came and tried to attack the caravan, but both times they were driven back. The greatest danger in their attacks wasn't necessarily their jaws as much as the terror they placed into the hearts of the horses. With carts filled with people, a spooked horse might soon result in disaster. Only one horse got spooked badly, and, thank the Nine, it did not bolt and run. After the horses were calmed down, they resumed their journey.

When night fell, they pulled the carts off the road and went into a nook in the side of the mountains. They tied the carts together and used what spare blankets they could to cover the horses, while they all huddled together within the carts. Every hour, one would be forced to don a heavy fur cloak and spend the night out in the cold, keeping watch on their little camp. Thankfully they only spent an hour in such conditions and would then be sent back into the warmth of the carts as another poor Nord would take his place for another hour.

* * *

><p>The morning revealed that, thankfully, the horses had survived, as had the Sons of Skyrim within the carts. They all breathed a sigh of relief and thanked Talos, or whatever Divine they held in their hearts, that they had survived thus far. They were almost near their desired goal.<p>

It was nigh on to midday when the carts pulled up to a halt. Ulli and Halldor, having ridden ahead, rode back to report that Falkreath was near. Here they came to a rest as Eirik and the cart-drivers made their plans.

"We won't all go through the eastern gate," Eirik stated. "That would cause suspicion. Instead, we'll split up and arrive separately. My cart will go in first, we'll have another go around to the southwestern entrance and keep another one back here. Once you hear me Shout, uncover yourselves and charge in from the gates. We'll have the city in no time."

At this point they made their departure, one cart going off the road to the left while Eirik returned to his cart and, with the others inside, awaited what may happen once they arrived in the center of the town. The cart bounced along on the cobblestone road into Falkreath: all those within sore from the bouncing and jostling which they had endured the past two days and eager to be out and about, stretching their limbs and killing milk-drinkers. After a while, the cart finally came to a halt and Eirik rose up from the cart, taking the great-sword with him. The others rose up with him as he turned his gaze from the cart to the Jarl's Longhouse.

"Let Jarl Siddgeir come forth to address the Sons of Skyrim!" Eirik announced.

"Who are the Sons of Skyrim?" asked a hold guard who walked up to the cart. "And what are you doing with swords drawn in the city limits? It's against Imperial law, that."

"This is Skyrim, not Cyrodiil," Eirik returned. "And the Nords are not beholden to any Imperial laws that defy our traditions."

By this time, a small group of townspeople had gathered in the center of town, eager to see what commotion was being caused. On the outliers of the group were several Imperial Legionnaires in red. They periodically whispered to each other and, clandestinely, one of them went into the Longhouse in a moment when Eirik turned his back to the door.

"More rebellious talk?" the hold guard asked. "That ain't welcome here in Falkreath. We're a loyal hold, see. And you're too late yourself, kinsman. Ulfric Stormcloak is dead, the war is over."

"And you bow the knee before the Red Legions of the Empire?" Eirik asked. "Groveling like animals before an invading enemy that seeks to strip us of everything we hold dear?"

"Those words are treason, snow-back!" one of the Imperial soldiers from the back of the crowds retorted.

"The Sons of Skyrim do not recognize Imperial rule in our homeland," Eirik retorted. "Nor do I recognize your Empire that broke our backs, turning our honor to shame by forcing us to submit to the tender mercies of the Thalmor!"

"It's not wise to antagonize the Thalmor, snow-back," the soldier retorted. "Remember, _we_ are the ones keeping the Dominion out of your gods-forsaken country."

"Lies, all lies!" Eirik retorted. "I have seen the Thalmor forces moving with impunity through our beloved land while the Empire does nothing: nay, worse than nothing, you give them permission! You let them march all they want through our land, abducting our men, women and children and killing them!"

By this time, the door to the Longhouse opened and there stood a Nord with short, dark hair and a beard, dressed in the garb of the Legion. This was Legate Skulnar, the Imperial Legate of Falkreath.

"Disperse, rebels!" Skulnar retorted.

Eirik turned towards the Nord, then back to the Imperial soldiers. "And here is the greatest crime of your beloved Empire: turning brother against brother, bloodying the very country you claim to defend and protect!"

"If snow-backs die, it's their own damn fault!" retorted the soldier, eliciting laughs from him and several of those in the crowd.

"It ain't worth it, kinsman," Skulnar said to Eirik. "Go on, leave. The war's over: Falkreath don't want to add no more stones to our cemetery."

At the mention of cemetery, Eirik was visibly shaken. Before he left Skyrim as a young man, he had buried his mother, Signy, after she had been killed by bandits. His time in the Hall of Shor had been far too brief, but even now on Mundus, he had not yet sought out her grave-site.

Suddenly, another figure appeared by Legate Skulnar: a smaller-framed, dark-haired Nord whose fine clothes and aloof demeanor were very familiar to Eirik. Galmar, at Eirik's side, grumbled in anger and uttered an oath.

"What are these bandits and brigands doing in _my_ fair city?" Siddgeir demanded. "Legate, kill them! Then punish the guards for letting them get in this far!"

"Sheep's cunt!" Galmar roared.

"Did you hear that?" Siddgeir retorted, confident with a much larger soldier in Imperial armor between him and the savage-looking Nords. "He insults your Jarl! Kill them all!"

"We will not shed the blood of any Nord," Eirik said, speaking to all those around him. "But if you resist us, we will fight back."

"Bah!" Skulnar scoffed. "Do you intend to take Falkreath with only seven men? This will be a good fight."

"Not with only seven," Eirik retorted, then lifted his head up to the sky and Shouted: "_Yol...Toor!_"

With that sign, battle-cries arose from the east and southwest gates as the other two carts were uncovered and the rest of the Sons of Skyrim emerged, weapons in hand, to cut off the escape of the Imperial soldiers.

"Stand down, men," Skulnar ordered. "Do not attack unless..."

"Kill the snow-backs!" one of the Imperial soldiers shouted. "For the Empire!"

The Imperials drew their weapons and charged at the Sons of Skyrim, while the people cried in panic, running back into their houses as the melee began. From out of the Longhouse, several other Imperial soldiers rushed Eirik and his group. Galmar was the first into the fray, with Lydia and Eirik following up behind and Ralof and Falke charging out, axes in hand. Two soldiers died before Siddgeir was cowering behind Skulnar, shaking and quivering with fear.

"Well, d-d-don't just stand there!" quivered Siddgeir. "Kill him, kill him now!"

"Just as I said before," Galmar said to Eirik. "A milk-drinking sheep's cunt if ever there were one."

"Stand down, kinsman," Eirik said to Skulnar. "Enough have died today, and we have no quarrel against our own people."

"Then you'll just have to kill me," Skulnar returned. "For I won't leave my post."

"You'll die for your post, then, Imperial dog!" Galmar retorted.

"No!" Eirik interjected. He then turned to Skulnar. "You've chosen to stand against Skyrim and her people by defending tyranny. You will go at once from this place and tell them what has happened here: that the Sons of Skyrim will not rest until every last damned soldier of the Imperial Legion is sent fleeing back to Cyrodiil!"

"No!" Siddgeir bemoaned. "No, you can't send him away!"

"And who's going to stop us?" Galmar retorted. "A sorry little milk-drinking, Imperial sod who can't even be bothered to rule his own hold?"

"But think about Falkreath!" Siddgeir whined. "Who will lead them if I am dead?"

"Hah!" Galmar retorted. "Like you give two shits about ruling anything besides your own feasts!"

"We're not shedding any Nord blood this day," Eirik retorted. He then turned to Siddgeir. "You too can go with Skulnar. Run away, find refuge with your Imperial friends, and tell them that the Sons of Skyrim are here to drive them out of our land."

"Careful," Galmar interjected. "Letting them go might not be the wisest choice."

"We need to be known, respected, feared," Falke interjected. "I'm with the Dragonborn on this one."

"And who will rule Falkreath?" asked Lydia.

"Galmar?" Eirik asked.

"There is one who might rule, if he's still alive," Galmar muttered. He then turned to Ralof and Falke and told them to bring forth Dengeir of Stuhn. Meanwhile, the Sons of Skyrim finished off the rest of the Legionnaires defending the city. As the sounds of battle had died down, the townspeople were starting to reappear in the streets, wondering what these strangers might bring to their town. The city empty of the Legion, the remaining Sons of Skyrim brought their carts into the town square while, moments later, Ralof and Falke appeared with an old, bald man in fine clothes with a long grey beard and his thin, elderly servant walking on behind him, head bowed in fear and trepidation.

"This is the one who was once Jarl of Falkreath," Ralof stated. "Dengeir of Stuhn."

"What is the meaning of this?" the old Nord demanded fiercely. "I demand to know why I've been dragged from my home by these-these..."

"My lord," Eirik greeted Dengeir. "You are now Jarl of Falkreath."

"By whose authority?" asked Dengeir suspiciously.

"That of the Dragonborn and the Sons of Skyrim," Eirik replied. "The Imperial garrison has been slain: Falkreath no longer belongs to the Empire, but to Skyrim."

Dengeir cracked a yellow-toothed grin as he laughed. "By Shor's bones, at last! Finally someone has come to drive the Imperial rabble out of our beloved Skyrim! I will gladly serve as Jarl, on one condition..."

"Treason!" Siddgeir bemoaned from where he cowered behind Skulnar. "This is treason!"

"Was it treason when you and the other Jarls turned against me?" Dengeir retorted. "Or when all of your secret friends conspired to put me down and make me appear like a senile old fool?"

"You were removed because you _are_ a senile old fool," Siddgeir replied.

"And what have you done in my place, eh?" Dengeir queried. "Sat in your hall, feasting and drinking, with no thought to the throne of Falkreath, letting that-that...that high elf b*tch and this traitor here..." He gestured to Skulnar. "...run the hold for you! She's a Thalmor spy, like as not!"

"You're crazy!" Siddgeir retorted.

"And you're a sheep's cunt!" spat Galmar.

"Enough!" Eirik interjected. "Siddgeir will be sent away, as will Skulnar. And we will have a proper Jarl rule Falkreath once again."

Skulnar threw back his head, laughing. "Fools! The Empire will hear about this! You're all going to lose your heads for this treason!"

"Not today!" Eirik returned. "Now go!"

Two large Sons of Skyrim picked up Siddgeir and Skulnar and dragged them into the center of the town. For a Nord, Skulnar gave no resistance against their orders.

"Now then," Dengeir said to Eirik. "As I am to be the new Jarl of Falkreath, there are certain things which must be done. For instance, I will have the Imperial spies driven out of town, starting with my servant." At this he pointed to the older woman.

"It ain't true!" she replied. "I ain't no spy! He's a cruel, vindictive master!"

"Liar!" Dengeir returned. "I know you've been slipping messages to that damned gossip, Valga Vinici! They're both in league with the Empire!"

"Silence!" Eirik shouted. He then turned to Dengeir. "If you wish it, we will send your servant away. My men will watch the woods in search of attacks from the Legion while we are here. Is it not true that Fort Neugrad is still manned?" He turned to Skulnar. "Is this not so?"

"It is so," he scowled.

"Then we shall have our answer that way," Eirik said. "We'll send these..." He gestured to Siddgeir and Skulnar. "...on their way, and have your servant go with them. If she is indeed a spy, she will be seen going thither and you will be vindicated."

"I don't much care for this plan of yours," Dengeir retorted. "She'll be bound to tell the Legion all she knows."

"We want that," Eirik replied. "We want the Legion to know that Skyrim will not suffer the yoke of Imperial oppression any longer."

"Alright, then," Dengeir dismissed. "If you insist."

"Ha!" Skulnar retorted. "You're fools, the lot of you. The Empire will hear about this. This town is an indefensible ruin! We will attack and you will all pay for this!"

Eirik said nothing as he gestured towards the eastern gate, the Sons of Skyrim responding by sending Skulnar and Siddgeir thither swiftly. The former Jarl squirmed, begged and cried all the time, afraid of being 'violated' by these large bandits, as he referred to them. Dengeir made his way into the Longhouse while Eirik remained with the Sons of Skyrim in the center of the town.

"What about the city guards?" asked Lydia.

"They will be permitted to continue to protect their town," Eirik stated. "Our quarrel is with the Empire, not with the people of Skyrim."

"But will they be ready to accept us?" Lydia asked.

"I don't know," Eirik sighed. "But one way or another, the Empire _will_ know the name of the Sons of Skyrim. This is our first blow."

"But what about what they said?" Ralof asked. "The garrison at Fort Neugrad will retaliate once they hear about this."

"Then we must be ready," Eirik returned. "Ready to defend Falkreath." Galmar, who had been with Ralof, spoke up at this time.

"This was certainly easy enough," he said. "Next time, those faithless Imperial dogs will try to make it more difficult. It's just like you said: we must be ready to defend this place. Let us begin by building a wall around the city to defend it."

"Yes," Eirik noted. "Let's get to work on that at once."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Hopefully this never happens again. I feel so embarrassed, especially since I take precaution to make sure this doesn't happen. Oh well, here you get to see the new version of this chapter, in my advanced current writing style. I really tried hard not to beat anything too much, especially Eirik's despair [that is one reason why he didn't go in search of Mjoll] and his indecision. So many things to look back up to make things fit [Eirik's indecision, what weapons everyone had, who all was at this place, what happened towards the end]. Because, due to my old laptop crashing and space needs on my flash drives, i didn't have a back-up and, having finished this more than a year ago, i've forgotten EVERYTHING! So here is my best attempt at rewriting it all from just the bare bones basics.)<strong>

**(In the rewrite, i had intended on including a sub-plot about what happened to the bones of Eirik's parents [they had been buried on a hill near where they lived in the woods of Falkreath, but the Legion, in need of new campgrounds for their troops, dug up the graves]. But it felt cliched, having the hero driven by personal attachment instead of a sense of honor and duty, so i left it out. Suffice to say that this behind-the-scenes thing is canon and is in line with my theme that the Empire is willing to sacrifice their own people "for the greater good.")**


	32. A Dangerous Deal

**(AN: I'm just going to stop reminding my readers about how evil the elvish people are [Dunmer in _Morrowind_, Altmer in _Skyrim_, the Falmer wiping out the settling Nords, etc.] because it seems that i've been saying this since _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and ALL of my reviewers just shut their ears as if i had said "it is totally okay to simply abstain from sexual intercourse to prevent pregnancies." Meh!)  
><strong>

**(In other news, a lot of things happen in this chapter, some of them related to character development, but it was just so damn hard getting this chapter out! It even went through several title changes before settling on this one. There also are some analyses of the character's point of view and some of your favorite Nords making appearances as well.)**

* * *

><p><strong>A Dangerous Deal<br>**

Eirik had not slept at all on the first night after taking Falkreath. While the guards continued to keep the order in town, he had to oversee the construction of a wall and towers around the city of Falkreath. Galmar, whom Eirik had managed to persuade the guards would not cause any trouble, said that the town of Falkreath was in a very poor position strategically.

"There are hills all around the town," he commented. "Some of them able of supporting a small detachment of archers to fire down into the town."

"I know," Eirik said. "They don't even have a fully built wall."

"To fully prepare this town," Galmar stated. "To adequately defend itself against a siege, it would take a life-time."

"We certainly have our work cut out for us, don't we?" Eirik retorted.

Eirik then set about getting those who had axes, or could acquire axes from the Gray Pine general goods store, to fell trees nearby. For once Eirik was somewhere he felt competent leading: his youth as a woodsman had not only granted him a body and strength fit for a warrior, but also the confidence to lead soldiers cutting wood. He sent them after relatively thin trees - the largest at a foot in diameter - which would be easy to carry once felled. Once they were down, Eirik instructed the others to sharpen the ends into spikes so that the logs could be used for the fence they would build around Falkreath.

All throughout the rest of the day they worked and late into the night. When the night fell, there came a question of where to house the Sons of Skyrim. Dengeir offered to have them stay in the long-house, but while Eirik allowed those who wished to stay there to do so, he refused. The next few days would be significant both for himself and for the Sons of Skyrim and he would not disassociate himself from the people he was trying to fight. Unfortunately, there was not a soul in Falkreath who was willing to let him lodge with them. Valga Vinicia plainly refused to allow him to stay at the Dead Man's Drink, the inn in Falkreath, despite stating that he had been here before without stipulation.

"The people of Falkreath," she had said. "Have decided that they don't want your kind in this inn!"

In the end, the proprietor of the Gray Pine general store, a Nord named Solaf, offered to share his house with Eirik and Lydia. It was near the west end of town and Eirik and Lydia walked through the dark, gloomy streets to the Gray Pine goods store. When they knocked, Solaf opened the door and led them upstairs, where there were two beds and a table prepared with food for four. While Solaf went downstairs to lock up his shop, he left Eirik and Lydia alone in the upper room with his brother Bolund, a Nord who looked upon Eirik with disgust.

"How long are you plannin' on stayin' here?" he asked tersely.

"What does that matter to you?" Eirik asked.

"Strangers ain't welcome in Falkreath," said Bolund in retort. "They always lead to trouble, even if they're kinsmen."

"Be civil to our guests, Bolund," Solaf said as he walked upstairs to the room.

"Why should I?" Bolund retorted. "I don't got no cause to kiss nobody's arse around here, especially no stranger!"

"Maybe we'd get more customers," Solaf retorted. "If you weren't no an arse yourself?"

"I don't give a shite what people might think of me, Solaf," Bolund stated. "You and me are the only true Nords in Falkreath and I ain't changin' for nobody and nothin'!"

"Reminds me of Crixus, eh?" Lydia chuckled.

"If we're being an inconvenience," Eirik returned. "We can leave."

"Then leave," Bolund replied.

"Where are your manners?" Solaf asked his brother, then turned to Eirik and Lydia. "No, please. You're still welcome to stay." He turned to Bolund and told him to go downstairs. The other brother - Eirik wondered if they were twins, since they looked so much alike - walked downstairs and left the newcomers to Solaf.

"You'll have to excuse my brother," said Solaf. "He don't hold with no strangers."

"Downright hates them, it seems!" Lydia added.

"But I don't got no problem with you bein' here," he returned. "Met lots o' different folk when I was a Stormcloak."

"You were a Stormcloak?" Eirik asked.

"Maybe I don't pick up no blade in Ulfric's name no more," Solaf replied. "But he speaks the truth. Skyrim is Nord land and we ought to rule it. We don't need no help from no Empire."

"Then why did you leave?" Eirik asked.

"Who said I left?" asked Solaf.

"But you chose not to fight," Eirik continued. "You _were_ a Stormcloak, fighting for the right of the people of Skyrim to rule themselves, and yet you left. Why?"

"There was too much at stake," Solaf replied.

"'Too much at stake?'" Eirik replied.

"The shop, my livelihood," Solaf continued. "Ain't gonna just leave my brother out in the cold, am I?"

"You were afraid, then," Eirik stated.

"No, I weren't afraid!" Solaf stammered. "The-The Stormcloaks! It was them! They always treated strangers and outsiders like they're beneath 'em! Couldn't stomach that!"

"Don't lie, brother," Bolund suddenly added. All eyes turned to the stairs, where the other brother was on his way up. "You yourself just now said that Skyrim belongs to the Nords! Don't be goin' back on your word!"

"But it was true!" Solaf replied.

"This here is Skyrim!" Bolund stated. "We shouldn't have to like everyone and everything that comes into our lands, and those who come into our lands shouldn't expect this to be New Morrowind or New Cyrodiil! If they liked their ways and customs in Morrowind and Cyrodiil so much, then why by Shor's bones did they come here to Skyrim?"

"Don't you be disrespectin' your own blood-kin in front o' strangers, Bolund!" Solaf retorted. "And you know we can't be doin' that. We'd never really grow if we shut out the world!"

"Fine talk you do, brother," Bolund stated. "Talkin' out o' both sides o' your mouth!"

"Get out!" Solaf shouted. "I'll not be disrespected like that under my own roof in the presence of guests! You can sleep in the Dead Man's Drink for all I care!"

Bolund grumbled and then walked back down the stairs. Once the door downstairs slammed shut, signifying that he was gone, the three of them ate a somber and quiet dinner. Then Solaf took a blanket and told them that they could sleep in the beds if they desired, that he would sleep downstairs. Eirik protested, saying that they had already made quite an imposition as it was and that they should leave.

"Nonsense!" said Solaf. "My brother's like that to all strangers. Never learned to keep his mouth shut, I suppose. Still, you're guests in my house and are welcome to it."

* * *

><p>In the end, they compromised and Eirik and Lydia shared one bed while Solaf slept in the other. Though he had worked all day and was tired, sleep eluded Eirik like a shadow in the night. Lydia, unfortunately, was kept up all night by Solaf's snoring and Eirik's tossing. At last she had had enough and turned over to Eirik.<p>

"Listen," she said to him. "If you want to get your sword out, now is neither the time nor the place. And I'll not be of service to you this time."

"I can't sleep," Eirik said. "I was thinking about what Solaf's brother said."

"Bolund?" she asked. "He's an arse-hole. Like a Nordic Crixus, it seemed. Quite a few of them, actually."

"I haven't seen many," Eirik said.

"Well, consider this," she said, rolling over to look at her thane in the face. "From what you've said, you were born in Skyrim but grew up in Bruma in Cyrodiil. That place is like a little piece of Skyrim and doubtless there were many who spoke of the glories of Skyrim and her people there, right?"

"Sven always spoke very highly of Skyrim," Eirik said. "As did many in the town."

"Well, then, there you have it," said Lydia. "You want to see the good in your land and your people, and that you see."

"Is that bad?" Eirik asked.

"Never said it was bad, my thane," Lydia replied. "If you can't see the good, then what in Oblivion are you fighting for anyway?"

"Sometimes I don't know," Eirik said suddenly. "Sometimes I feel that the path I've chosen is wrong."

"Then don't fight," Lydia replied.

"I cannot choose not to fight," Eirik retorted. "When there is injustice in Skyrim."

"Then fight!" she sighed. "Shor's bones, did living in Cyrodiil take away your manhood? Did all that learning make you incapable of thinking and deciding for yourself?"

"That barely makes any sense," Eirik groaned.

"Yes it does," the huscarl retorted. "Tell me, what all did you learn at the university in Bruma?"

"I learned how to read and write," Eirik said.

"Uh-huh, and what else?" she asked. "Did they teach you about the world outside of Bruma, outside of Skyrim? Did they teach you to respect the Imperial way and the elvish way but to disrespect the ways of your own people? Did they teach you all that talk about us being less than everyone else because we don't fit up to what some milk-drinking scholar in an ivory tower decided was 'civilized?' Hmm? All that bullshit that comes out of Crixus' mouth every time he speaks? Did they teach you that?"

"Don't talk to me about Crixus!" Eirik hissed. "He's betrayed me one too many times. If I see him again, it will be the last time."

"You believe what he said, didn't you?" asked Lydia. "You believe what Crixus said about us being inferior? Is that why you want to look for the good in us? To prove him wrong...or to prove yourself wrong?"

Eirik sighed, both angry and at the same time also wanting to open his mind to his huscarl. He had already been as close to her as he had with Mjoll and they had passed through fire and death together. But then thinking of Mjoll turned his mind back to her. Were she here, would she listen? Would she talk about her adventures instead and give no mind to his problem? Or would she be like Lydia, and tell him to behave as he should, as his people should?

"The people of Riverwood didn't want a savior," Eirik said. "Nor do the people of Falkreath. The Stormcloaks, the people of Windhelm and those who escaped with us, they're exactly as Crixus said they are! How am I to defend myself when I know that he is right?"

"Fuck Crixus, my thane!" Lydia replied. "Listen, we are at war. Defaming the enemy is something that happens in war, especially when its a civil war of the people rising up against their leaders. The Imperials won't just let us do what we wish, not without telling all who will listen that we're backwards mongrels who want to destroy everything that's not us!"

"But what if that _is_ what we are?" Eirik asked.

"So what?" Lydia asked. Then she took his face in her hands, meeting his dark brown eyes with her blue eyes. "Eirik, my thane, listen to me: by birth and by the choice of the gods, you and I are Nords. There's nothing we can do to change that. You can paint your skin yellow, you can wear fur and speak like a Khajiit or you can change your name and act like you're from the heartland, you are still a Nord. For good or for bad, we are what we are and that cannot be changed. It's no use crying over how someone else thinks or feels about us: just do what you believe is right and let the gods sort out the rest."

Eirik rested his head against the straw-filled pillow and looked up at the ceiling, mulling over Lydia's words. They seemed to make sense, but the doubts and fears of all of his life's experiences seemed to rise up to snuff out the light and drown her words in second-guesses and suppositions. At last, wearied as he was, he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning Eirik arose bright and early, eating a sparse breakfast and setting out at once to begin work. The sun was hot that day with the onset of spring soon to be on the land, and there was still quite a bit of work to do. By mid-day they were making excellent progress on the wall. The young ones in their group worked hard and the older ones heeded Eirik's directions and, not to be outdone, worked just as hard if not harder than the youth. Here the group in which Eirik was working took a few minutes to eat and rest for the afternoon's work. With him were Ralof and Inghild, a large red-haired man from Windhelm named Calder and a woman named Perla who, despite being fifty years old and having one eye, kept up with the rest of them as though she were as young as Inghild and twice as strong as Eirik.<p>

"The work is proceeding well," Calder said. "It shouldn't be much longer before the east side of town is walled off."

"Good," Eirik said. "That is where the greatest danger will be if the Empire decides to attack us."

"The greatest danger," Perla spoke up. "Will be from those hills. It will take longer to build our walls over them, especially through solid rock."

"Running out of time, kinswoman?" laughed Inghild.

"We don't have the time to waste," added Perla. "Especially if the Empire is on the..."

"I doubt young Noralv would be opposed to building the walls over the hills," Ralof added. "That young man can split stone, they said, as easily as a bear can split a man's skull."

"But what I mean," Perla continued. "Is that those hills would be a perfect place to build watch-towers. Nothing too large like those at Helgen or on the plains of Whiterun and not made of stone, just a few wooden ones where some sharp-eyed folk, like Ulli or Bjorn to keep an eye on the enemy should they come from the north or south. And should they come from the east, they will have an excellent vantage point to shoot them down with their bows."

"Wouldn't that take too long anyway?" asked Inghild.

"If we have towers on the hills," Perla replied. "We'll at least have some warning if the enemy comes from the north or south. And if they don't, those in the tower will be able to fire upon them with impunity."

Eirik chuckled. "It will be quite an undertaking."

"But not one I can't handle on my own," said Perla in reply. "I've been through two wars, two husbands and three children. Building a few towers isn't going to stop me."

"Two husbands?" both Eirik and Inghild asked as one.

"It's not a subject I'd like talking about," said Perla in reply. "Especially not in front of strangers."

"There are no strangers here," Eirik said. "We are all the Sons - and daughters - of Skyrim. We have been through the Imperial blockade of Windhelm, through the snows of the Jerall Mountains, faced bandit raids and many long nights on the road to Falkreath. We're all together in this."

"First," Perla replied. "Tell me your story, young man."

Eirik hesitated at first, after which Perla smirked. "Aren't we all in this together, sons and daughters of Skyrim?" To this Eirik sighed and then began in brief the telling of his tale, with additions by Ralof. From his youth and departure to Bruma, to his arrival on the 17th of Last Seed last year and the coming of the dragon, Solstheim, the Forgotten Vale and the mists of Sovngarde, little was left out of his retelling. By the time he had reached the end, almost half an hour had passed.

"That's quite an impressive story, Dragonborn," Perla stated. "I've heard the legends about you, same as every man and woman here present. I would say you're just another powerful user of the Ancient Voice like the Greybeards or Ulfric, but I saw what happened when we left Windhelm. Ulfric could never have summoned a dragon like that: these dragons must fear you indeed if they who once ruled all of Skyrim, so the stories say, bow their heads to your will."

"I am honored by your words," Eirik said, though his face was flushing.

"I can't say that I've boasted much greater than what you've said," Perla stated. "I grew up in Whiterun, where I married Odher the Keen, as he called himself. He was particular about leaving behind his family name Maiden-loom and so decided to move with me to Eastmarch. We were young and in love, we had our firstborn, Ulli, and then the war happened. Odher was crippled in a rock-slide, so I went in his stead and left Ulli with my mother in Whiterun. It didn't seem right but my number was up and the Empire was pressing all able-bodied men and women into battle, what with all the atrocities those damn elves reaped upon them."

"Is that why you chose to join the Stormcloaks?" Ralof asked. "Because they pressed you into service and took you away from your family?"

"That's one of the reasons," Perla continued. "The other was dishonor. I wasn't there to see the atrocities the elves laid waste upon the Imperial City, but I was with the Legion that marched into the city before the Battle of the Red Ring. I can still see it now: the city streets strewn with corpses, old blood lying brown and black upon all the streets, dogs and rats scurrying amongst the bodies and the smell of death was heavy in the air." Silence fell upon them as Perla's words hung over their heads.

"It was there that I lost my eye," she continued. "My company were in the box formation and one arrow..." She chuckled. "One arrow managed to slip through a momentary gap in the shields and hit me in the eye. I tore the arrow out, but it took my eye out with it, what was left of the damn thing, at least. I was taken out of battle and sent home, even though I was fully capable of fighting."

"Over an eye?" asked Eirik.

"How many women do you see in the Legion, Dragonborn?" she asked. "Maybe a few, but that's likely because they have wealthy connections somewhere and the desire to fight. Not many women in the Legion posted in Skyrim, that's for sure. It seems like my presence was merely allowed because they needed all the help they could get and I was available."

"I'm sorry," Inghild said.

"Twas nothing," Perla continued. "When I came back, however, I found that my husband had left me for another woman. Angered, I cut off his right hand and had to leave Eastmarch. Jarl Vegard had died and whoever was in charge before Ulfric became Jarl wasn't keen on letting law and order disintegrate because the Jarl's son was away fighting in the War or whatever. Ended up back in Whiterun, where I married again and settled down with my Ulli and my new family. Two more children came, both of them boys." She paused and Eirik saw in her eyes a distant sadness: one that had long since withered away from tears and was now a sullen bitterness like the still, decaying air of a old Nordic barrow.

"My youngest was attacked by a wolf," she continued grimly, any smile or even hint of one fading from her face. "He survived being mauled but something in the beast's mouth got him in the end. The healer said it was rabies. The next boy was...killed by bandits. That was when Ulli decided to take up her sword with me and go avenge him. We did, but when we got back, my husband was missing. He had been taken from our home while we were out hunting those bandits..." She reached down into her worn jacket of leather armor and pulled out the hammer-cross amulet of Talos.

"He was taken for this," she said. "The Empire didn't care that I had given my blood, my service, my honor and my eye for it; they took my husband because some elves were offended at our worship of Talos." She then sighed again, cast her eyes north and then looked away to them.

"Earlier this year," she concluded. "I heard that the Thalmor prison camp at Northwatch Keep had been assaulted. Ulli and I left Windhelm, violating our orders, and went there to see what had become of my second husband, of my beloved Ebbe. Those Thalmor bastards had killed him long ago and left his body to rot in their cells. All that remained of him was this." She held the amulet in her hand and gripped it tighter.

There was silence among them and Eirik hung his head. He felt ashamed for having doubted his people last night and prayed that Talos give him the strength of will never to doubt them again. These were people just like himself and just like Mjoll; either they had chosen to fight due to how the War had injured them, like Perla, or they, like Ralof, had chosen to do so out of duty to their country. Both of these were good reasons in his estimation to fight, and hearing them gave him strength inside.

"We will build the towers," Eirik said at last.

* * *

><p>Building towers on the northern and southern ends of town were not as simple as building a wooden palisade wall. In the end, Noralv had to be brought over to build a stone foundation for the supports of the wooden tower. By nightfall, only the base of the tower had been built and half of the eastern wall had been finished. Eirik found Lydia as the sun was going down and decided not to spend another night in the Gray Pine general goods store and instead took up Dengeir on his offer to stay in the long-house. Eirik did not care about thoughts and second-guessing, not after today. If his people would sleep in the Jarl's long-house, he would sleep with them.<p>

Morning dawned as brightly as ever, though a bit colder than usual. When the dawn rose at last, peaking its head around the heights of the Throat of the World, Eirik had reorganized the group for their day's work. Already two nights had passed since they had arrived in Falkreath and the wall was still taking quite a bit of time to complete. Perla, Inghild and Noralv worked on the northern tower while Eirik and Lydia joined another group with Angrim and Ralof who were raising the east wall.

While they were thus working, the youngest member of the Sons of Skyrim, a lad named Bjorn from Oakwood in the hold of Falkreath, was talking of what had transpired last night outside the Dead Man's Drink. He had once more, despite Angrim's warning, attempted to purchase rooms for the others from the inn. Not only had the proprietor turned him out, but the patrons also had risen up as though they would seize him and throw him out.

"It angers me that everyone we've met refuses to help us!" Bjorn roared. "Do they not know that we are on their side?"

Eirik smiled fondly. Here was a young man whom his heart went out as soon as he had learned his name while in Riften. He bore the name of his father and, aside from the elder's fidelity to the Empire, gave Eirik an impression of what his father must have looked like in his youth: tall and strong with golden hair and an endless fire in him that made Eirik realize how old he was. But his smile soon faded, for he knew that was Bjorn said was true.

"We should speak to those two brothers, my thane," Lydia added, wiping her forehead with her wrist.

"Why?" Eirik asked. "Eager for another argument of Crixian proportions?"

"They're the ones who say that they're for the Stormcloaks," Lydia stated. "If they believe what Ulfric said, as Solaf said, why didn't they stand up for us?"

"She's right," Ralof stated. "We need to make that clear as soon as possible, that all who supported Ulfric should support us."

"Maybe," Eirik said, but then halted when he heard the voice of hooves galloping down the road. Taking up his great-sword from where it sat against a felled log, he strode towards the east gate. There he saw the four riders whom he had sent to distract the hold guards on their first arrival. Among them were Ulli the Keen-Eyed Odhersdottir, Calder, who had been a huscarl in service to Ulfric Stormcloak prior to the fall of Windhelm, the Nord mercenary Valgard who had been of the bandit group that had joined the Stormcloaks in their final days, and another older Nord man roughly Crixus' age, dark-haired with a grim face.

The riders swiflty approached the gates, but did not wait for the guards to stop them. Dengeir had given the guards orders not to harm the Sons of Skyrim and they had not done anything illegal or harmed anyone. There would not be any fights between the guards and the Sons of Skyrim, at least for the present. Here, however, the riders approached Eirik, their horses neighing and grunting in weariness from their ride.

"My lord!" said the grim-faced one to Eirik as he brought up his horse along-side where Eirik stood.

"I am not your lord," Eirik stated. "I am a man, just like you."

"You're more than a man," said the grim-faced man. "You're our chief captain, and you're the Dragonborn. Furthermore, whoever your father was gave you a name worthy of leadership: Eirik is old-Nordic for 'eternal king.'"

"Are you done talking?" Ulli interjected. "For the love of Talos, we've been riding in circles for two days and you don't seem to have lost any wind."

"He's tireless, that one," said Valgard. "Won't rest until he's bloodied himself on the Empire for Gallows Rock."

The grim-faced man cast a glaring eye at the rough, straw-haired Valgard, who said nothing but returned the glare. Ulli rolled her eyes and brought her horse up to Eirik.

"We came within sight of Fort Neugard," she said. "Two men approached the gates and were let in. A few moments later, we heard a bell tolling. I climbed a tree and saw that the garrison was organizing their troops. I think they might be moving out, coming this way."

"Only two men?" Eirik asked. "There wasn't a third with them? An old woman?"

"No, sir," Ulli shook her head. "Only two men."

"Siddgeir and Skulnar made to Fort Neugard," Lydia said. "And now it seems they've convinced the Imperial garrison to move to action."

"How long until they arrive here?" Eirik asked the rider.

"I'm not sure," said Ulli. "Two days at least."

"Thank you, Ulli," Eirik said, turning to Ulli. "Go take your rest, and when you're done, come back here and help us with the wall." He quickly looked over what they had done so far. The wall was nowhere near as complete as it could have been and now it could not possibly be fully completed, especially with the two towers, in only two days time.

"Valgard, Svenn," Eirik said to the other riders. "The garrison..."

"If the commander is smart," Valgard added. "He'll send south for reinforcements."

"Make sure no word ever reaches Cyrodiil," Eirik said grimly. "Twenty-three will not stand against even one legion."

* * *

><p>For the rest of the day, they worked at a feverish pace. Eirik permitted fewer rests for the others and did not rest himself at all. He was determined to see the eastern side of the wall finished before the Imperial garrison arrived. Just how many there were, however, he did not know. And if the outriders failed and word reached Cyrodiil, more would be on their way.<p>

By evening, Eirik was drenched in sweat and could scarcely hold up his head. At his side was Lydia, exhausted as he was and as the others doubtless were. He made a brief halt in the work as the light was going down to purchase torches to light a bonfire outside of the eastern side of town to keep the work going on into the night. Lydia, meanwhile, was not pleased with this arrangement.

"By the Nine, Eirik!" she exclaimed, walking after him to the Gray Pine goods store. "You need to rest! We've nearly completed half of the eastern wall already!"

"That's not good enough," he returned.

"But we won't be able to fight," she replied. "You won't be able to fight, if you're exhausted off your arse from working all day and all night!"

"Then what do you propose I do?" Eirik turned around. "I can't even protect my own wife, how do you expect me to protect the Sons of Skyrim?"

"Then take advice!" Lydia returned. "You have many men here who fought in the Great War, who were once captains of the Stormcloaks. Listen to their counsel. Do not shoulder this burden alone!"

"I'm the Dragonborn," Eirik said grimly. "I'm supposed to shoulder the burden alone."

"But you have us here with you," Lydia replied. "You've already sent the Companions to every cave in the east, looking for Mjoll. You're doing all you can: there's no shame in allowing yourself some rest."

Eirik did not answer. Lydia shook her head and went towards the Gray Pine goods store in his stead. Eirik, meanwhile, sulked behind a two-story wooden house, eager to get away from the hardships which had fallen upon his shoulders. Once again doubt was filling his mind and everything he feared seemed to be coming to pass. So engrossed was he that he did not notice a large black shape walking up to him from out of the gathering dark until it was within a few inches from his face.

There loomed from the shadows a large black dog with thick, shaggy fur and green eyes. It stood in front of Eirik for a moment, then licked his face. Eirik sighed and scratched the dog behind the ears. The beast seemed to be tame or at least allowed him to show this sign of affection, then turned its snout to him and spoke in the oddest Breton voice that Eirik had heard.

"Life got you down, fate-bound one?"

"What?" Eirik gasped, turning to the dog. The gesture was pointless, for he was within inches of the dog's face and could see that it had been the one who had spoken.

"What if I could offer you the answer to all your problems?" asked the dog.

"And what would that cost me?" Eirik asked cynically. "My wife has been abducted, I've been chased out of Whiterun, banished from Jorrvaskr, my lord has been killed, my titles have been stripped from me, I am an outlaw and the people of the town of my birth hate me: what more could I possibly give?"

"No more than you can afford," said the dog cryptically. "Just a short walk into the hills."

Eirik chuckled grimly. "No more than I can afford indeed! What's the catch?"

"Who said anything about a catch?" asked the dog. "I'm a dog, not a fisherman. Look, my master is getting impatient. If you don't want help..."

"I didn't say that," Eirik returned.

"That's better," said the dog. "Now just follow me and I'll take you to my master. He might just have something that could help you."

The dog took off into the darkness before Eirik could see which way he went. Luckily, the dog came back and rubbed his shaggy hide against Eirik's legs and then showed him which way to go. Eirik followed the dog's trail into the night, until the town of Falkreath was more or less forgotten. In the dark, under the light of the moons, Eirik could scarcely see the large black dog making its way through the night, but the dog would wait or come back for him if he got lost.

By and by the two arrived at a glen in the middle of the darkened woods, sheltered on its northern side by a cliff. There were two torches flickering eerily in the darkness, giving off just enough light to dispel a few shadows from the glen but not enough for Eirik's liking. In their light he saw a black pool at the farthest end of the glen upon whose surface no light was reflected. Only the swift plop of some creature knocking loose a stone from the nearby cliff into the pool gave any indication of what lay in the darkness. The shadows clung to the cliff face, where stood a cave entrance. Near at hand was what, Eirik guessed, had once been a stone door that had been broken down. There was just enough left of the door lying on the ground for him to recognize the face of a skull carved into the door.

As Eirik stood here, gazing upon the grim scene about him, a figure appeared. The shape was not much taller than a Bosmer, dressed in the clothes of a rich man. The face, however, was obscured beneath an iron mask, the top of which had two horns protruding forth. When the elf-ling spoke, however, the voice was the voice of an Altmeri noble, belying its size.

"I've been waiting to meet you, Dragonborn," he said. "At least, I've been waiting to meet one of you. Such a strange occurrence it is, that this age has been cursed with two of the Dragon blood." There was a sly laugh. "A curse, perhaps, for yours, but not for me."

"I remember you," Eirik said. "I think. I saw you in the visions in Dawnstar."

"Did you now?" asked the newcomer.

"Who are you?"

"Many things to do, my friend," said the newcomer. "Lots of people willing to sell their very lives for a morsel of bread. But my...esteemed colleague Barbas..." Eirik noted the contempt in the elf's voice. "...has informed me that you, O mighty Dragonborn, have fallen on hard times."

"And what is it to you?" Eirik asked, wary of this being whom he guessed could possibly be another daedric prince.

"How much do you know about the gift your little Lioness had?" asked the elf.

Eirik's countenance fell at this reminder. Though it had been Mjoll's idea for them to consummate their marriage on the eve of his departure to Skuldafn, he knew that to do so would rob her of her gift. It hurt him even moreso because now she was missing and had no gift with which to protect herself. He shut his eyes in shame and did not answer.

"It should come as no great surprise," said the elf. "That I was the one who gave her that gift."

"You?" Eirik asked. "She-she told me it was a witch in the highlands of Cyrodiil."

"Yes," said the elf. "I do get tired of the same incarnation over and over. You have no idea how hard it is for people to take you seriously when you appear to them as a bald, gap-toothed, fat-bellied little horned child." There was silence and then suddenly one of the torches flickered. Eirik saw the elf approach him, but now the form was much taller and stronger built. In the light of the torch, the form was also seen to be shockingly familiar. One long, slender hand reached up and removed the mask. To Eirik's surprise, he saw the face of Mjoll staring back at him. The eyes, however, were green.

"You want to be reunited with your wife, don't you?" the daedra's voice asked, speaking through the Lioness' lips in the voice the elf had used.

Eirik's hand quivered for a moment and reached up to touch her face, but before he could, the mask was covered and once again the image had shrunken and was clad once more in dark, rich robes.

"I can insure that it happens," he said.

"How?" Eirik asked, though his throat was constricted from having seen Mjoll's likeness once more, so close and yet so far.

"Many ways, my friend," said the daedric prince. "I could have her captor simply vanish with a snap of my fingers. I could set up a nice chain of coincidences that lead you to finding her when you could not have done so alone. Or I could have your beloved delivered to you in a basket, unclad and ready to be taken back into your...arms." The elf laughed, but the laughter died as he approached Eirik again, bearing once more a basket. The lid was removed and Eirik saw four severed heads sitting inside the basket. One was the head of Athal Sarys, another was the head of General Tullius, the third of an Argonian who was vaguely familiar and the last of a high elf whose eyes had been put out.

"Or is this what you want, hmm?" asked the elf. "Your enemies delivered into your hands. The one who killed your lord and brought all of this hardship on your shoulders, the one who oppresses your people by deed, the captor of your beloved, or the one who threatened you so long ago?"

Eirik did not have to think very hard about this. While he had heard the voice of the elf in question speaking in the dungeons of Solitude, it had been a long time since he himself had been in his custody. As for the Argonian, if he was indeed Mjoll's captor, killing him would not bring back Mjoll. She might still be lost even if he was slain.

"No," he shook his head. "I will kill these on my own. I want to be reunited with Mjoll again."

"Really?" asked the elf, the basket suddenly disappearing from his hands. "With that attitude, why not find her on your own?"

"Because I have looked everywhere for her," Eirik said. "I-I have sent my shield-brothers to find her, all of them have come back empty-handed. I cannot leave her, but I seem to be unable to find her. Please, if there is anything..."

The form shifted once again and the iron mask came off, revealing the strangely unsettling visage of green-eyed Mjoll.

"You're a man of deeds, I see," said the image of Mjoll. "Therefore I ask you to do something which your love would enjoy. Personally it means nothing to me, but these things cannot be freely given. Do this and I will give her to you."

"And what must I do?" Eirik asked.

"Drive the Thieves Guild out of Riften," she said. "It was what Mjoll wanted. Do that and I will reunite you with your beloved Lioness."

Eirik looked at the image of his beloved one last time, part of him eager to remain in this moment, content in the lie standing before him: it was his love, whom he had not seen in many long months. But the thing this daedric prince was asking him seemed oddly in favor of what both he and Mjoll had wanted. Not that he would not wish to do it: if any being had asked him to do anything of equal or greater difficulty, he would do it. But the words of Miraak and Frea of the binding of the daedric princes came flashing back into his mind.

"What are the Thieves Guild to you, demon?" he asked.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Dragonborn," the image said with a coy smile. "Seriously, you mortals always ask stupid questions about these things. If you don't want her..." The form turned about and started to walk into the darkness.

"No, forgive me!" Eirik called back. "I-you're right. I was wrong to doubt your word. Of...of course I'll do it."

The smile that the image gave him stung him to the heart. Despite the green eyes, it was exactly like Mjoll's smile.

"B-But," Eirik spoke up. "What about this situation I'm in? How can I...?"

"You'll find a way," she said with a smile. "I'm certain of it. After all, it would be a shame to not see the deal through, would it?"

With that, the apparition vanished and Eirik felt a great weariness fall over him. He fell onto the ground and knew no more.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Between studying for finals and trying to get this chapter out, it was hell. But, thankfully, i got it out!)<strong>

**(I wonder if anyone noticed how Eirik and Lydia's friendship has changed in this chapter. Usually, Eirik just keeps his thoughts to himself and we have a ruminant paragraph where he just muses on what he's just learned and how it fits into the bigger picture, etc. For this chapter, the ruminant paragraph has been more or less removed and instead we have Eirik opening his mind to Lydia about what is concerning him.)**

**(Two things i want to say before i conclude here: one, if i ever referred to Windhelm as Vindrhyll, please remind me. It is now called 'New Gnisis'. The second thing is likely concerning this chapter. Yes, that was Clavicus Vile. This chapter was getting so big and bloated and i just couldn't find an end to it, so on the advice of my brother, i had a daedric prince appear who cuts a deal with Eirik for reuniting him with Mjoll. But i couldn't, for the life of me, think of a fitting task for Eirik to go on, so instead i had Ol' Scratch place Eirik in a situation where, as he said in this chapter, "a nice chain of coincidences" would lead him to finding Mjoll. As far as the daedric quest goes, i really didn't feel like throwing that in at the last minute, so i'm just going to say that someone else united Ol' Scratch and his Jewish stereotype.)**


	33. The Taking of Falkreath II

**(AN: Last chapter I decided to do more of the talking in the dialogue than in the author's notes, as far as reasons and pondering. The same goes for this chapter. As for the Empire, specifically how they appear in this chapter, it annoys me how the game designers went for a bait-n-switch tactic with the Empire. In the prologue [Helgen], they're dicks who are going to kill you just because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and they're all rude and crass...then conveniently after that, they suddenly become nice guys and the only people being dicks are the Stormcloaks. So here we see the Empire from Helgen once again.)**

**(On another note, I need to go back and fix where i said "Fort Neugard" instead of "Neugrad". I guess that comes from being a _Turisas_ fan, since I say "Nygard" like the front-man of said band.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Taking of Falkreath II<strong>

Eirik's sleep was filled with dreams of Mjoll. No more nightmares, if only for this night, these dreams were wholesome and alluring. He saw her face, amber-eyed, standing before him, lying beside him, or straddling atop him. Yet he himself could not touch her; he could only see her and know that she was there, for she had no form. No, these dreams were no nightmares: waking, however, was the real nightmare.

He was nudged out of his sleep and, opening his eyes, saw the blue eyes of Lydia looking down at him with concern. She had changed in the seven months since he had met her. Rather than an annoyance or hindrance, she had become the closest thing Eirik had to a friend in Skyrim. For a moment, his body warmed with the images of the night, he wondered if his fondness for Lydia was for other reasons.

"There you are!" she exclaimed. "Thank the gods I found you!"

"Wha?" Eirik muttered. "Lydia. You look awful. Don't you ever sleep?"

"Not when I had to search everywhere for you, my thane," she replied. "You weren't anywhere in the town last night. I spent most of the night looking for you and just now bothered to look outside the town. There were foot-prints in the ground, Halldor was able to read them and brought me here. What happened to you? Why are you out here in the middle of nowhere?"

Eirik rubbed the back of his head, which had hit the ground when he fell asleep last night, but did not immediately answer. He looked around and saw that there were no signs of anything that had appeared in the glade last night. The only thing he could rightly see was the pool by the side of the cliff, still as black as it had been in the darkness. Rising to his feet, he looked around and saw no sign of Halldor, one of the Sons of Skyrim.

"Where is he?" Eirik asked.

"He wouldn't go down into the glade," Lydia replied. "He said that this place is cursed. No one ever goes here, he said, because those who do never come out again."

"Looks pretty run down," Eirik said, looking over at the broken door with its yawning tunnel going into the cliff face.

Lydia then led him back out of the glade, where he saw Halldor leaning against a tree, his face towards the sun still in the morning sky. Unlike most of the other members of the Sons of Skyrim who were either young men with swords, axes and shields or former Imperial Legionnaires, Halldor had grown up in Falkreath as a hunter and tracker of game, and, through his frequent visits to the Dead Man's Drink after bringing game to the Gray Pine goods store, he heard of the War and decided to join the Stormcloaks as a scout and ranger. His frame was rather thin for a Nord and his hair was the color of bark. In fact, due to the dark green cloak he had thrown over him, he seemed at one with the forest leaning up against the trunk of the tree.

"You have nothing to fear, Halldor," said Lydia. "We both came back."

"It ain't natural, none of it," said Halldor. "The dark pool, the whispers coming from that glade, the screams." He eyed Eirik suspiciously, as if he feared that he was somehow in league with whatever dark demons lived, or once lived, in that glade.

As they walked back to Falkreath, Lydia told Eirik that they had already started work on the wall when the sun rose, even without him. Eirik was pleased to hear that they had gotten used to their tasks and could complete them without constant supervision.

"A self-sufficient man," Halldor chimed in. "Don't need no supervising from nobody!"

"He's right, my thane," Lydia added.

* * *

><p>When they finally returned to the town, Eirik saw that old Svenn had returned. He brought his horse up alongside where Eirik and Lydia were walking and dismounted to give his report. Accordingly, two outriders had been spotted leaving the camp at Fort Neugrad: both of them had been slain. The Imperial garrison, however, was in readiness to leave the fort, having emptied the garrison save for a piece-meal guarding force of ten.<p>

"They don't know that we've taken killed their only hope of reinforcements," said Svenn.

"You've done well, Svenn," Eirik said to the old soldier. "Did you happen to see how large the force is that they've dispatched here?"

"A hundred men," added Svenn. "That should be enough for all of us to kill at least five. You and your huscarl can wait out this one, Dragonborn. We'll give you victory."

"That's very admirable of you," Eirik returned. "But I will fight at your side."

"A leader never fights his own battles," Svenn stated.

"But I am no leader," Eirik said. "I'm just like the rest of you. I won't stand in the rear-guard and let you all fight and die for me. We don't fight for one man, we fight for all the people of Skyrim: and for that, I'll fight at your side as well."

Svenn nodded, his lips quivering in what almost looked like sorrow. "You're a good man, Dragonborn. Just like he said you were."

"Who? Who said?" Eirik asked.

"Arvid," replied Svenn. "He talked quite a bit about you."

"Arvid!" Eirik exclaimed. "You knew him?"

"He was my son," said Svenn.

Eirik's joy turned to sorrow as he stood before Svenn, revealed now to be the son of one he had fought alongside before among the Stormcloaks. Now he was dead, killed at Gallows Rock, and his soul devoured by the World-Eater. It was a fate worse than death, for there was no Sovngarde for those unlucky ones who fell to the insatiable lust of Alduin.

"I am sorry for your loss," Eirik said.

"He died fighting, as any true Nord should," said Svenn. "He will receive his reward for his brave actions. But you, he spoke quite a bit about you before the end. He said that he only met you a few times: once when you came to Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks, again when you were married, and a third time at the Battle of Heljarchen Vale. He said that every time he met you, he saw you to be exactly what the legends spoke of regarding the Dragonborn. You were a good man, a good shield-brother, and one he would have followed, if fate had made you his captain."

"Why are you telling me this?" Eirik asked.

"My son was a rebel all of his life," Svenn continued. "It amazes me that he found in you something to respect, something he couldn't find even in me. Don't-don't think that I hold any ill-will towards you. His love was towards me in the end, as were his last words. But I see that he was right: you are a man worth following."

"No," Eirik returned. "I'm a woodsman, no different than most of you."

"Bullshit!" Perla spoke up from behind. Eirik turned around to see the dark-graying auburn one-eyed warrior approach him, leaning on the haft of a long-handled axe. "You're the Dragonborn, you have great knowledge, you command the respect of every one of us..."

"And only that," Eirik said. "The people do not join us."

"They did the same for Ulfric," Svenn added.

"That is the burden all leaders must carry," Perla added. "To do the right thing even though they are not loved for it."

"But without the people," Eirik said. "We could take all of Skyrim away from the Empire and it would be worthless."

"The people will see our strength in this coming battle," said Svenn. "And then they will know that we mean business."

Eirik turned to Lydia, who nodded at him with a hopeful smile on her face. At this, Eirik turned to Perla, who nodded respectfully, and then to Svenn, who did likewise.

"Thank you," he said. "I hope that I will live up to your expectations." There was nothing else he could think that would be appropriate.

"You already live up to them, Dragonborn," said Svenn. "Lead us to victory tomorrow and they will be realized, not only for us but for all of Falkreath."

Perla saluted with a pounding of her closed fist upon her chest - an old Imperial Legion salute, but Eirik didn't mind - and returned to work. As Svenn was mounting up again, Eirik walked over to the side of the horse to have one more word with him.

"Do you think we could take Fort Neugrad?" Eirik asked.

"I could take Fort Neugrad all by myself!" Svenn boasted. "But it will be futile to send men away from the real battle here. Plenty of time to take care of them once the main army is removed."

"You've done well, Svenn," Eirik repeated. "Go find yourself some food."

Svenn rode off down the main street of the town while Eirik cast his eyes northward: to Lakeview Estate and the manor that was still unfinished, to Whiterun where Clan Grey-Mane had fallen before his eyes, to Dawnstar where he had last parted ways with Mjoll...

"Thinking about her, aren't you?" Lydia asked.

"How can you tell?" he returned.

"Well, for one, I know you," she said. "You were willing to brave the dangers of Mzinchaleft for her, or whatever that damn Dwemer ruin was called, and all the other hardships you two went through before you finally became one. Also, when I found you in the glade, you were whispering her name."

Eirik sighed, lowering his head. "I don't know what came over me, Lydia."

"What do you mean?" she returned.

"At Dawnstar," he continued. "I...perhaps I was just so...angry at Crixus for betraying me, at the Empire for dishonoring the treaty, for what they had done, I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I'll say," Lydia added. "For a learned man, you rarely think clearly."

"That's why I'm no leader," Eirik replied, ignoring her usual cheek.

"Then, if the gods have made you our chief captain," Lydia continued. "Why don't you appoint people to advise you?"

"Advisers?" Eirik asked.

"You know," she continued. "Balgruuf had advisers back in Whiterun. There was his brother Hrongar, who was very hot-headed and hungry for battle, as well as being a staunch loyalist. Then there was Proventus, who was subtle and shrewd, he thought more than he fought, and his advice stemmed from practical need rather than glory-seeking. Even Irileth, his huscarl, advised him."

"The Dunmer?" Eirik asked.

"She might not have liked you," Lydia continued. "But she appreciated Balgruuf nonetheless. And he appreciated her help, just as she respected his rule and his prowess as a warrior. You know, I think she might have secretly admired the tenacity and straight-forwardness of Ulfric Stormcloak, though she never really..."

"Your point being?"

"You need people to advise you, my thane," Lydia replied. "Especially if you're going to be leading a revolt that might end up with you leading a large army."

"Twenty-one men and women are a large army?" Eirik asked.

"You wait, my thane," Lydia replied. "Once word of your victory here spreads, there will be people sprouting up all over the nine holds seeking to join you. You won't be able to handle them all on your own: Talos knows you act like you can barely handle us on your own."

"Who should I choose?" Eirik asked.

"Do I look like I have a list of candidates on me?" Lydia chuckled.

"No, but since you suggested this, I assumed you had someone in mind."

"Well, probably not me," she returned. "I'm your sword and shield...and sometimes your pack-horse..." She said these words through clenched teeth, as though it were a great annoyance. "...but I don't have anywhere near the kind of real war experience that some of these here have."

"Galmar?" Eirik asked.

"Maybe, if you can stomach his crass behavior," Lydia replied.

Eirik smiled. "You are good, Lydia. A tribute to the position of huscarl if ere there were one. I'll consider your suggestion. In the meanwhile, let's get on back to work."

* * *

><p>After a late breakfast, Eirik returned to the building of the wall and towers. He was pleased to hear that Perla and Noralv had managed to build the north tower almost completely and were starting to construct the south-east tower. The eastern side of the town had been fully fenced in, with the new palisade wall coming up along-side the stone gate-house of Falkreath. The north-western side of wall had not yet been completed: working on that end would be difficult, for there was a large grave-yard near the Temple of Arkay and not enough room or time to judge how far the wall should extend.<p>

On the last night before the thirteenth of First Seed, the day of battle, the Sons of Skyrim retired to the Jarl's long-house to sharpen their weapons and make preparations for battle. Dengeir had, for the most part, been cooperative, and even Nenya was starting to treat them with less rudeness, since they had not done anything over the past three days that was violating the law or disturbing the peace. However, Dengeir had warned Eirik that the town guards were up to something.

"Nobody listens to old Dengeir," he said. "They say I'm senile, they say I jump at shadows, they say that I see Imperial spies and Thalmor agents behind every bush, but they are there, by Tsun! The guards have been plotting something on their off-hours. Do not expect them to help you tomorrow."

"The Jarl has a point," young Bjorn spoke up. "The night before last, when I was goin' into the Dead Man's Drink, I saw a table of city guards crowded about in the corner, they seemed to be talkin' about somethin'."

"Do you think they could be planning against us?" Eirik asked.

"It's a strong certainty," said Galmar. "Especially since they know, as we do, that the Legion are on their way."

"If they do," Eirik said. "There will be no drawing weapons against them. Our enemy is the Legion, not the hold guards."

"But there are many in the Legion," Perla stated. "Who are Nords."

"So?" Galmar asked. "They chose to fight against their country, tomorrow they will die for it." He then turned to Eirik. "After we've cleaned up these Imperial dogs, what shall we do next?"

"It's not safe to speak of such things!" exclaimed Dengeir. "The eyes and ears of the Empire are everywhere!"

Eirik ignored this and turned back to Galmar. "Are you quite sure that we will be victorious?"

"We have you on our side," said Svenn. "The Dragonborn."

"The Bear of Eastmarch," added old Angrim.

"Just summon that dragon like you did at Windhelm," said Falke. "Burn a few Imperials, make the people of Falkreath see that you're not one to be fucked with."

"I will not build a legacy of fear," Eirik said. "Only our enemies need fear us."

Galmar grumbled. "Still, what is our next target?"

"Riften," Eirik said. "We'll return there and take it back for Skyrim."

"Yes!" a large Nord named Kjellbjorn, one of the Sons of Skyrim, roared. He was called 'the Red' by those who knew him on account of his large red beard, red hair and how blood-drenched he was after each battle. If Noralv Stone-shatterer was shorter but broadly built, like a tree, then Kjellbjorn might have had giant blood in his veins. Easily as tall as Torgrim Stone-Crusher, with arms and legs as wide as Noralv, he could easily kill three men with no weapon at all.

"Mjoll would have wanted that," Lydia said, turning to Eirik.

"I know," he said grimly, then turned to silver-haired Thorald across from him at the left. "Thorald, I know you want to fight the Empire, but, as your Harbinger, I cannot let you do this."

"Do you speak to me as Harbinger of the Companions?" Thorald asked. "Or as firstborn chief captain of the Sons of Skyrim?"

"Both," Eirik replied. "Our rules state that we cannot join wars, but I must stand and fight with them."

"And why can't I?" asked Thorald.

"I do so because I have no other choice," Eirik stated, clenching his teeth. "And I fight not for the honor of the Companions and not in their name, nor in the name of Kodlak, or Ysgramor or Jorrvaskr. I fight for Skyrim and only for Skyrim."

"Can I not set aside my title for one moment?" Thorald asked. "So that I can also fight the Empire alongside you?"

Eirik sighed. "If you fall, you will fall as a son of Skyrim, not as a Companion."

"Are you so determined that we lose this battle?" Thorald asked. All eyes turned now Eirik and Thorald. Most of them had confidently spoken of their victory; in fact, all of them spoke with an optimistic air of assured victory, all except for Eirik.

"I will not say one thing or another," Eirik said. "You're all fine warriors, who've fought so much and come to this point now. I have every confidence that you will fight as you have always fought, with courage and with tenacity and honor."

"Then why do you speak of our victory as though it were not assured?" Inghild asked.

"I do not know the future," he continued. "And so all prediction is in vain. What tomorrow brings is now in your hands."

They nodded in approval and then went about looking for food or singing 'The Dragonborn Comes'. There was some argument that there should be another song made, since 'the Age of Oppression' was hardly fitting anymore, as the Imperial oppression had been victorious and Ulfric was dead. Eirik did not pay attention to their singing, feasting or argument, for he still had the issue of Thorald to bring forth.

"If you fight," Thorald said plainly. "Then I will fight. May my name be blotted out of the annals of the Companions if I lose."

Eirik nodded silently, but said nothing else. Already the majority of their battle plans had been made and now only the long night awaited them. While the others feasted and sang, Eirik and Lydia retired to a back portion of the long-house, where they wrapped themselves together in a blanket and sat against the wall, listening to the half-drunken men sing their way through 'The Dragonborn Comes.'

"Do you think we'll win tomorrow?" Eirik asked Lydia.

"I have not stood at your side," she replied. "At any battle which you have lost."

"But I have been captured and imprisoned many times," Eirik added. "It is a grim fate to have one accursed by fate as a leader."

"You've fallen prey to treachery, my thane," Lydia said. "It won't happen again, not with so many trust-worthy ones around us."

"I hope you're right, Lydia," Eirik said.

The night passed slowly for Eirik as he gazed into the fire-pit in the center of the Jarl's long-house. He feared to sleep, if perchance he might dream once more of Mjoll, for then he would not wish to awake until she was in his arms. Again the folly of his actions rose to his mind, especially going to Windhelm instead of searching for Mjoll as was brought up by Lydia. His failure there made him more conscious of his possible failure with the Sons of Skyrim.

* * *

><p>If Eirik dreamed at all during the night, he did not remember them when he awoke. Strangely enough, he was the first to wake and rouse the Sons of Skyrim for battle. Weary though he was from lack of sleep, something inside him kept him from fully surrendering to slumber. Now the day of battle was come and they would go out to meet their fates, all twenty-two of the Sons of Skyrim and Lydia.<p>

They had kept their weapons and armor in the long-house and so they had little to do as far as preparations before they were ready. A light breakfast and they all strode out of the long-house, armed and ready to do battle. To Eirik's surprise, however, he saw the people of Falkreath gathered in the center of the town, as they had been when he had escaped here with Mjoll, Rayya and Serana so many long months ago. The hold guards, meanwhile, were standing before the doors of the long-house while others ran to the gate-house of the town.

"What is this?" Eirik asked.

"We know what you've brought down on this town," said the captain of the town guard. "And we won't be party to it. I've had my men open the gates to let the Legion into Falkreath."

"Idiots!" roared Galmar. "All of our work has been for nothing!"

"We only want peace in Falkreath," said the captain. "Your kind always bring trouble."

"Our kind?" Falke asked threateningly.

"Rebels, bandits, outlaws," said the captain. "Reprobates of the worst sort."

"We are your people!" Eirik returned. "The Sons of Skyrim!"

"You're thugs, just like the Stormcloaks," said the captain. "We've had enough of your kind in Skyrim, and now the Empire is going to put you down like the dogs you are."

Eirik turned his eyes eastward and saw the Imperial troops marching into the city. There were quite a large number of them, just as Svenn had predicted. He did not count them all, for it would be fruitless. At least a hundred men were here, if not more. They came to the center of the city, where the captain of the guards knelt down before the commander of Fort Neugrad. On a horse next to him was Legate Skulnar, armed and looking upon the Sons of Skyrim with disdain.

"Commander!" the captain of the guards said. "These are the rebels who have taken the town from us! We offered them no aid and none of us have joined ourselves to them."

"Then what is this wall around your town?" asked the commander.

"They built it themselves," said the captain. "Without help from any in Falkreath."

"And the tower?" he asked, gesturing to the hill. "Am I to believe that a group of ignorant bandits built a wall and tower in only four days without help from the people of the city?"

"Falkreath is loyal, commander," the captain said. "We know our allegiances lie with the Empire and we refused to violate them."

"Still," the commander said. "You have harbored rebels and fugitives from Imperial justice. For this, you shall be punished."

"No!" a man from the townsfolk cried, stepping out of the throng of people. "We're not rebels! You can't do th..." But while he was speaking, an Imperial soldier struck him down to the ground with his fist.

"You Nords really are more trouble than you are worth," the commander said to Legate Skulnar. "One rebellion is crushed and another one rises up."

"You can't blame the people of Falkreath for this, sir!" Skulnar interjected. "They are not at fault."

"Be that as it may," the commander said. "I am going to send a clear message..." He turned to the people, lifting up his voice. "...a message that you will not soon forget, one that will forever deter all such notions of rebellion and insurrection in this town and, by the Eight, all of this country. For harboring known rebels and enemies of the lawful government, building defenses against said lawful government and for the long lasting prevention of future thoughts or inclinations of rebellion against the Empire, I, Commander Lucius Gentonius, as commander of the Imperial garrison in Falkreath, demand reparations of one tithe of the people of Falkreath and one tithe of the houses of Falkreath to be destroyed and their remains left as a warning."

"No, you can't do this!" the captain of the guards shouted. "We're not rebels! We let you into the city!"

"To close the doors and trap us in here?" Commander Gentonius asked. "And where are these so-called rebels? I do not see them before me!"

"Here we are!" Eirik shouted. Gentonius' horse neighed in fright and his eyes swelled at the sight of the armed and fierce-eyed Nords glaring them down.

"You have condemned this town to a grievous punishment for your actions," said Commander Gentonius.

"Those barricades and towers you see," Eirik said. "Were built for the protection of the people of Falkreath."

"They do not want your protection!" Gentonius exclaimed proudly, holding up his head.

"We don't want to die!" a woman of the town exclaimed. "We've never supported the rebellion, either Ulfric's or these bandits. You can't do this, you mustn't!" At a swift command from Gentonius, she too was struck down.

"The Empire is law!" Gentonius exclaimed. "We will discipline the subjects of the Empire as we see fit. You have no right to question the Empire. Legate, carry out my orders in the name of the Empire!"

"But we can't kill all these people!" Skulnar added. "They're innocent!"

"Do it, Skulnar," Gentonius threatened. "Or I'll have your number up for insubordination."

"Is this what you want, people of Falkreath?" Eirik asked, pointing to Commander Gentonius. "A capricious Empire that exercises its force whenever it feels like sending a message? A weak Empire that capitulates to those who would see us all as slaves? An unjust Empire that brands us criminals for wanting to defend ourselves when they are too weak to do so?"

"Be silent!" Gentonius commanded. "Your Ulfric Stormcloak is dead, his rebellion has proved worthless. It's time you Nords learned your place. Long live the Empire!"

There were only a few voices who lifted up this cry. Surprisingly, there were many in the garrison present who did not cry out the same, and Eirik saw that only the captain of the Falkreath guard said the same.

"Talos guards this place, Imperial scum!" Galmar shouted. "He made the Empire you use to profane his name!"

"Silence, heathen!" said Gentonius. "Your tongue will cost the people of Falkreath more than they can afford. Legate, the tithe upon the people and houses of Falkreath has now increased to thirty percent of all they have."

"I won't do this!" Skulnar said. "The war is over! I refuse to slaughter my own people!"

"Guards, arrest this Nord!" said Gentonius. "He has defied his orders. He will die with these traitors. The rest of you, carry out my orders! For the Empire!"

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_"

Eirik shouted into the air, shattering the cries and clamor of the Legion soldiers and the people of Falkreath. All eyes were turned now to him, Eirik Bjornsson, the Dragonborn, Firstborn chief captain of the Sons of Skyrim. Now was his hour, to choose what to do with the power he was given, even as Arngeir had fore-warned him of last year.

"I am the Dragonborn," he said. "My voice is the Voice of dragons, the Voice of Talos, the Voice of the North Wind. You threaten the people of Skyrim: leave now or none of you will be left alive. You will all perish for this injustice!"

Several of the Nord Legionnaires threw down their weapons and took to their knees in awe. Those in their ranks who were Colovian or Breton laughed at their fellows' behavior, while those Nords who did not bow hung their heads in shame or tried to look as undaunted as possible. But Commander Gentonius raged even more.

"Superstitious Nords!" he cried. "Get up! He's just one man!"

"He does not stand alone!" Galmar said. "Sons of Skyrim, rise up!"

All of the Sons of Skyrim drew their weapons and faced down the Imperial soldiers. Several other Nords who were in the Legion also dropped their weapons.

"Fools, all of you!" Gentonius shouted. "They're only twenty of them! Slay them all for the Empire!"

"For Skyrim!" Eirik shouted in return.

The Sons of Skyrim burst upon the remnant of the Imperial Legion. Kjellbjorn crippled one with a blow to the knees with his war-hammer, then buried it in his chest as he tackled two more Legionnaires down with his bear strength. The axes of Galmar and Angrim cut a swath through at least ten who charged them both. Calder, Ralof and Lalla, a shield-maiden, fought as one unit, with two shields blocking, deflecting or bashing while their swords and Ralof's axe swung about like the arms of a troll, hacking off limbs and spilling blood.

On the outside, Ulli and Halldor had drawn their bows and were picking off those who ran to carry out Gentonius' orders against the people of Falkreath. Defending them was Perla, with a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. The great-swords of Svenn and Jodis charged after those who escaped the bow, cutting them to bloody pieces.

In the thick of the battle, there strode Inghild, shield, sword and fist all working as one. Noralv had picked Gentonius off his horse and threw him to the ground. Falke's face and mace were covered in blood and the Legionnaires feared to oppose him for the menacing look in his eyes. Ovlin, Maldor and Dynthor worked under Yrsarald's command, turning back those who tried to reinforce the center. Bjorn was fighting alone, Valgard threw himself into the nearest group of Imperials and Thorald's gray-white hair was stained pink with blood. While back to back stood Eirik the Dragonborn and Lydia the huscarl, their swords gleaming with freshly drawn blood and the battle fury of the Nordic people in their eyes.

Even with a fourth of their number having surrendered before the battle began, it was all over swiftly. Surprisingly, of all those who fought for the Sons of Skyrim, Kjellbjorn received no greater wound than a bruise. The others had some wound of some kind or another: even Eirik now sported a new scar on his right shoulder when the blade of an Imperial gladius bit through the pauldrons. But for him there was no rest, for he had to oversee the captives and those who had surrendered. Fortunately, no houses had been burned and none of the people of Falkreath had been killed or wounded: the Sons of Skyrim had born the wounds for them.

"You think this means anything?" Gentonius asked Eirik as he strode before him and Skulnar. "I've sent outriders to Cyrodiil. Within the month an entire legion of the Empire's finest will be here to put you down!"

"You mean the ones _we_ killed?" Svenn, who stood nearby sporting a wound across his forehead, asked.

"Liar!" Gentonius retorted. "The Empire will not be mocked this way! News of this will reach Cyrodiil, you'll all be guilty of treason! Long live the Emp..."

But before he could finish, Falke laid into him with his mace, smashing his head over and over until Eirik ordered Svenn to stop him. He, meanwhile, turned to Skulnar.

"We meet again," Eirik said.

"So we do," said Skulnar. "But you know this rebellion won't last very long."

"Still loyal to your Empire, are you?" Eirik asked.

"I don't know what to be anymore," he replied. "I've been stripped of my rank and commission and branded a traitor to die with you lot."

"Didn't we say," Galmar said. "That you would die if you opposed us again? Let his fate be the same as his commander!"

"No," Eirik said, shaking his head. He then knelt down before Skulnar, coming eye to eye with him. "You must survive. We will spare your life and let you go, but you must do something as well. Go at once to Oakwood and tell those you meet of the Sons of Skyrim. Tell them the truth, not what the Empire would want you to tell. Tell them what the Empire planned to do here and what we halted. Tell those who wish to find me to search for me in the Rift."

"That's a very bad idea!" Galmar interjected.

"Wouldn't be the first one," Eirik mumbled, thinking about his choice to go to Windhelm instead of beginning the search for Mjoll.

"He'll tell the Imperial garrisons elsewhere," Galmar replied. "He'll go to Cyrodiil and inform them of this, and now you've told him where to find you!"

"I won't go back to Cyrodiil," said Skulnar. "Not after this. What the Empire did here today cannot be allowed to be forgotten." He nodded for Eirik to approach him and whispered into his ear.

"I am a loyal subject of the Empire," he said. "So I cannot join you. But I will not oppose you."

"Then you shall go free," Eirik said. "And tell all those you know about this."

"And what about the others?" Galmar asked, gesturing to the twenty-five Imperial Nords who had surrendered. "Do we let them go free as well? No true Nord should ever surrender!"

"They will go," Eirik said. "They are free to choose their own path, whether to follow or to return to their homes. They will not be slain if it can be helped."

"I do not approve of this!" Galmar grumbled.

"Noted," Eirik said with a smirk as he approached the Legionnaires. In fear of the Dragonborn, they bowed before him as though he were a god.

"On your feet!" Eirik said to them. "You are children of Skyrim! Let it be known that the songs this day are true: the Dragonborn is an end to Skyrim's foes, but not an enemy to her children. Go now wherever you wish: back to your homes, back to your families and back to your towns. If you wish to fight for us, you are welcome. If you return to Fort Neugrad, you will not be welcome back there. If you choose to rejoin the ranks of the Legion, I will not be so forgiving that time."

The soldiers rose up and departed, heads hung. At least half of them left, but the last twelve threw off their helmets and approached Eirik, hoping to fight alongside the Dragonborn of legend. Their numbers had now grown to two and thirty, an elite striking force now a small company. At once Eirik began making preparations to leave for the Rift, his next task at hand.

None of the Imperial Legionnaires nor the Sons of Skyrim, even Ulli the Keen-Eyed or Halldor the Ranger, saw the black-clad figure watching Eirik as the Battle of Falkreath began and ended within an hour.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN:)<strong>


	34. A New Approach

**(AN: I have a lot of homework to do as far as going back and reading _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_. Not only for grammatical purposes and to get rid of all those less-than-favorable sentences, i also want to give Mjoll a bit of depth to her back-story. As interesting as i found her, her mother, father and brother are just faces without names. That will change in this story, just as how, in _The Dragon of the South_, Elisif's back-story will be explored. I mean, she's just there to be a passive little Jarl who does whatever whoever controls Skyrim tells her what to do, no story or anything meaningful.)**

* * *

><p><strong>A New Approach<strong>

While she was bereft of company with whom to talk, Mjoll was able to do as she had done on her travels: think and listen. There were many people around her in the tunnels and these spoke a lot more than those in the other cave. Of course none of them spoke to her when they delivered her food, but she could hear what they were saying, reverberating out in the tunnels beyond her cavern. From them she discerned several words being spoken over and over: 'Companions', 'booty', 'city guards' and 'the prisoner.'

The days passed and she became less sick and more hungry. She asked her captors for more food, but whether or not her requests were answered, she did not know: they never answered her. And so she passed her time alone, with the clothes and armor she wore - which, unlike her weapons, had not been taken when she was captured - feeling more and more uncomfortable.

One day, while she was scratching idly on the dirt floor, something appeared in the doorway. There was Tarvis and at his side was a little Colovian girl in a green dress with dark hair that was cut about to her chin.

"Hello, my love," Tarvis said. "I want you to meet somebody special. This is Lucia. Lucia, that is Mjoll, she is your new mother."

"Mother?" Mjoll asked.

"I thought that you and I needed something to bring us together," he said. "So I adopted Lucia from the streets of Whiterun. It's already been arranged."

"Do you think this is wise?" Mjoll asked.

Tarvis then whispered something in Lucia's ear and sent her to the corner of the room, where she knelt down with her hands over her ears. Tarvis then approached Mjoll, his eyes staring at her with disbelief.

"I don't understand," he said. "I thought your heart would go out to her. I see that he has already done great mischief to you."

"What kind of world do you live in," Mjoll asked. "Where you can just take a married woman, force an adopted child onto her and expect her to love you?"

"Would you rather I send her back onto the streets to fend for herself?" Tarvis retorted, his voice still soft but sorrowful.

Mjoll furrowed her brow at Tarvis, not standing for his game. "There are some things you just can't force."

"I have no intention of forcing anything from you," he said. "The Eight have determined that we will be together forever, and it will be done. I am merely trying to save you from him."

Mjoll said nothing, for once again this was becoming inane and repetitive. Nothing he had not said before was being said again. Had he nothing else wherewith to argue? At length he sighed and then prepared to leave, but Mjoll called out to him.

"You say that you love me," she said. "If so, why..."

"Are you kept in chains?" he asked. "I told you, it is for your own protection until I have saved you from his spell."

"Why are my food rations so low?" she finished.

Tarvis turned about, a look of shock and horror on his face. "This cannot be! I-I specifically told them not to starve you! Oh, my! Eight save me! My love, please, tell me, how bad is it? How much more do you need? I will do anything I can to make you more comfortable."

"I just need a little bit more food, that's all," Mjoll replied. She did not add why, for she was suspicious as to what would happen if he found out that she was almost three months with child. Of course him finding that out would be an inevitability, but that was a bridge she would cross at the appropriate time, not earlier than needful.

"Forgive me," he bowed. "I will see to it at once that your rations be doubled. I cannot have my beloved suffering from hunger." He then walked over to Lucia and, taking her by the hand, brought her over to Mjoll.

"I want you," he said. "To get to know one another while I am away."

"What about what you said before?" Mjoll asked. "About never leaving my sight?"

"I am a busy Argonian," he replied. "I am the Dragonborn, after all. Much to do, towns to save, rebellions to put down, my people's future to build towards. I'm certain you've been wanting to have company, someone to talk to. Well, now you have someone. I hope you two can become good friends."

Tarvis bowed to Mjoll once again and then departed down the cave tunnel. For a moment both little Lucia and Mjoll eyed each other: blue and amber eyes gazing each other up and down. After a while, the little girl approached Mjoll and sat a few feet away from her with her knees bunched up and her chin resting on them.

"Are you alright, mama?" she asked.

Mjoll nodded.

"Are you a good person, mama?" Lucia asked.

"Yes, child," Mjoll returned. Though the humble answer would be to say that she would like to believe she was, the child looked no older than seven and would not understand what she meant.

"Papa has some strange friends," Lucia said. "Some of them aren't very nice."

"Don't be afraid, child," Mjoll said. "I'll keep you safe."

"But you're tied up," Lucia replied.

"You can help me," Mjoll returned. "Don't worry, though. I'll give you a home to live in and love you as my own and-and..."

"And what?" Lucia asked, her eyes widening with delight.

"Come closer," she said. Lucia approached Mjoll and reached out her hand to Mjoll's face.

"I've never had a family, you know," she said. "Papa said he'd give me a home and a family to love. I do believe him, he saved me from the streets of Whiterun."

"I'm not sure if he's very trust-worthy," Mjoll said. "He kidnapped me and brought me here."

"He said that the Eight brought you here," Lucia stated. "Are you telling me he lied?"

"I'm saying," Mjoll continued. "Things are not always as they seem. You see that I'm tied up? Why would he tie mama up?"

Lucia shook her head in ignorance.

"Can you untie me?" Mjoll asked. "We should get out of here as soon as possible."

"I don't want to go," Lucia said, shaking her head. "Papa saved me from the streets."

"And brought you to live in this cave?" Mjoll asked. "I have a place where you can live, a home, a real home. You will be loved and taken care of and I'll teach you to be strong, just like my mother taught me."

"Will you, please?" Lucia asked. "Teach me to be strong. Those people papa had in the cave were pretty scary, especially his friend, the one he called Mo'Raj."

"Why?" Mjoll asked. "What was he?"

"One of them cat people from the caravans, I think," said Lucia.

"You know its not good to be afraid of someone who's different," Mjoll replied.

"He had red eyes," Lucia said fearfully. "He looked at me with a funny look and then laughed when I hid behind papa. It was so scary!"

"Come here, child," Mjoll said. Little Lucia sat down at Mjoll's side and leaned her head against her shoulder. Since she could not put her arms around her, Mjoll rested her head against the child's head. "I'll talk to him about it. I'll make sure he leaves you alone. In the meanwhile, what would you like to do?"

"I'd really much like to play a game or something," said Lucia. "But you're all tied up."

"Why don't we talk?" Mjoll asked. "It's always fun to talk, you learn so many new things about people. My brother Mani and I used to stay up all night and talk about many things."

"You have a brother?" Lucia asked. "Will he be my uncle?"

Mjoll sighed. "My brother is dead. He was killed when our home was attacked by bandits."

"I'm sorry, mama," Lucia returned. "I didn't know."

"It's okay," Mjoll stated. "I miss him as much as I miss my father and mother. Malgeir and Halgerdr were the best parents one could ever..." Mjoll then saw a sad look on Lucia's face. "I'm sorry, I was getting carried away. I did not mean to hurt you."

"I don't really remember who my real parents were," said Lucia. "All I know is that they were farmers who came from the south and that they moved to Whiterun for some reason. My mama is the only one I remember. She was very sick and then...one day...she said 'I love you, Lucia' and that was it. She never got out of bed."

Mjoll sniffled back tears and gently rested her head on Lucia's head, the only sign of comfort she could give.

"Then my aunt and uncle took over my parents' farm and kicked me out," Lucia continued. "That priestess Danica let me stay at the Temple of Kynareth, but they had no money to give me. That's when I met Brenuin: he was the only one who was really nice to me after mama left."

"What about the priestess of Kyne?" asked Mjoll.

"She let me stay there," Lucia said. "But she was busy and I never really saw much of her."

"You didn't make any friends there?" Mjoll asked.

"There weren't that many kids my age there," Lucia continued. "At least nice ones. Mila Valentia said I was a pickpocket because I hung out with Brenuin. There was a boy, though, but he was afraid to even look at me, I never really learned his name. Then there was Braith: she was a big meanie, always picking fights with that boy, the city guards; once I saw her start kicking a dog because it had barked at her!"

Moments later, there were footsteps heard echoing down the tunnel. Mjoll turned her gaze there and saw Tarvis walking back into the room. Lucia ran into his arms and he embraced her. He then turned to Mjoll.

"I have spoken with the others," he said. "And they tell me that there has been no change in your food rations. They are just the same as they have always been."

"They're too small," said Mjoll. "Besides, now that I have a daughter, apparently, I will need to give food to her as well."

"Lucia will receive her own food," said Tarvis. "Though, it makes me happy to see you've warmed up to her. Perhaps one day the same will be true with me."

"I also want to talk about the other people here," Mjoll continued. "Just who else is with you?"

"A few friends of mine, nothing else," Tarvis diplomatically replied.

"Lucia said one of them scared her," Mjoll replied. "A Khajiit by the name of Mo'Raj."

"Of course you would believe that," said Tarvis grimly. "That bastard stole you away from me and twisted your mind!"

"Please, not in front of her!" Mjoll said, nodding towards Lucia.

"She must know the truth," said Tarvis. "That one is an evil, bad man who kills without thought and corrupts the minds of young women."

"What about these people, these 'friends' of yours?" Mjoll asked. "Who are they? I've been listening to the talk coming through that hallway, and it sounds like you've taken up with a pack of bandits."

"They are enterprising young collectors, my love," he said.

"Do you really think to earn my love by siding with those I have sworn to oppose?" Mjoll asked. "I am not so ignorant as that."

"Ignorance," scoffed Tarvis. "That is what that Nordic barbarian would have of you. Ours is to be the future, to change this land for the best!"

"Let me go," said Mjoll.

"You do not yet know what is good for you," Tarvis replied.

"And you do know?" asked Mjoll.

"Of course," said Tarvis. He then paused, looked down and muttered something in a language which Mjoll, who had never in all of her travels set foot in the deadly fen-country of Black Marsh, knew not.

"Forgive me," he said at last, using the common tongue. "I misspoke. These friends here will not harm you, and neither will Mo'Raj. They are here for your protection and for that of Lucia."

"I have a sword, that is all the protection I need," Mjoll returned. "Why must I be unarmed and these bandits be armed instead?"

"You do not need a weapon anymore, my love," said Tarvis. "I will be your weapon once you have learned the truth and accepted it. My axe the Scarecrow will keep us safe if that imposter ever tries to take you again. There is no need for other weapons."

"The better to control me, I take it," Mjoll returned.

"I do not wish to control you," Tarvis replied. "I wish to liberate you."

"By keeping me bound up and tied in a cave?" Mjoll asked.

"I have had this conversation before," Tarvis stated. "These bonds are for your own protection until you see the truth."

"How is this protection or freedom?" Mjoll asked.

But Tarvis was done talking. He departed back into the tunnel and said nothing more. Lucia, meanwhile, looked over at Mjoll with uncertainty in her eyes.

"He talks very nicely, mama," she said. "He never raises his voice or curses. Why were you two arguing?"

"Come here, Lucia," Mjoll said to the little girl. "Mama has a lot of things to tell you."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I feel like these cut-away chapters with Mjoll need to be called something else besides "...the Lioness" does this or that. So I gave this one a new title. I've also done quite a bit of research into <em>Skyrim, Oblivion<em> and _Morrowind_ lore to try to make what will happen later on as grounded in realism as possible. In that search, i found out that there is a plant in the _Tribunal_ DLC called [imitates Ike Broflovski]...scrib cabbage.)**

**(On a less than silly note, I wanted Mjoll to be a kind-hearted person, because, based on how she acts in the game, that is what she would do. That is why she warms up to Lucia, as well as both of them having lost their families. As far as what else will happen, that I will leave to the future chapters of this story. Oh, and thank you once again for the reviews.)**


	35. Downfall of House Black-Briar

**(AN: This chapter will be one of the ones that sees the culmination of what we started long ago in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_.)**

**(I've heard some people say that _Skyrim_ is similar to another Bethesda game, _Fallout 3_. If there are any _Fallout_ players on here, please say why. I mean, we don't have any strange clones in Skyrim running about saying their name like they're Hodor or Timmy, and while I did have something planned as far as the Black Horse Courier in _The Dragon of the South_, we don't have a Three Dog in Skyrim who sticks it to the Empire and plays "Ragnar the Red" at every tavern he comes to, and while Malcolm McDowell [the surprisingly British American president Eden] _has_ been confirmed as _ESO_'s Molag Bal, and we even have someone who says a line like Marcurio, Skyrim is not "post-apocalyptia". I bring this up because my brother [yes, that again] said that the couriers in Skyrim are too tame and defenseless for such a rugged, war-torn world and should look and be armed more like the Courier from _Fallout 3_.)**

**(Also, there is something that bothered me greatly about Riften. A] the Society for Mercantile Freedom in Riften is just there to be there and serves no greater purpose and B] Vulwulf Snow-Shod has dialogue that says that he's aware of Maven's Imperial leanings, and yet there is also dialogue where she convinces him to fund her shipment of weapons to the "Stormcloaks", like hell she'd do that! On a side note, it may seem that Vulwulf has forgotten Eirik from when he met him in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, but it is implied in this chapter that he has been drinking his sorrows away and so would probably have forgotten him.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Downfall of House Black-Briar<strong>

Six days had passed since the taking of Falkreath from the Imperial garrison. Those who had surrendered were delivered over to Dengeir as the first garrison of the Sons of Skyrim. They would stay in the city in case any force attempted to retake it. Meanwhile, Eirik and the others went to Lakeview Estate. Here, for three days, they worked on the manor-house. It had fallen into slight disrepair after being promptly abandoned at the start of the year, but there was no great damage that they could not repair. With twenty-two instead of three or five, three days was enough time to build up a large, two story hall and lay the foundations for two side rooms. No furnishings or such were placed inside, as that would come later. For now, however, Lakeview Manor had a roof over its head to keep out the rain, walls upon its sides and a lock upon the door, courtesy of Maldor who had been a smithy before joining the Stormcloaks.

"It will be a fine house to live in, my thane," Lydia said. "I'm sure Mjoll will love it."

Once again Eirik was reminded of her absence and his failure. But the visitation he had received in the woods of Falkreath still hung in his mind. Soon they would make their way eastward and take Riften from the Black-Briars and the Thieves Guild.

Thus it was one sunny day that they were gathering up their weapons, armor and tools for the return to Riften when a lone horseman arrived out front of Lakeview Manor, riding eastward from Oakwood. He wore light leather armor and had a sword in his hand, but no badge or icon told to whom he belonged. When he saw the people gathered out front of the half-built estate, he brought his horse up and greeted them.

"Which one of you is called Eirik the Dragonborn?" he asked.

"I am," said Eirik.

"That's not a good idea," muttered Angrim. "He might be an assassin."

"It would be foolish to go up against twenty two of us," Eirik said as he walked over to the rider. "Yes, I am the Dragonborn."

"You certainly are a hard man to find," the rider said. "I've been looking for you for almost a month. They said you were in Dawnstar, but when I arrived there, they said you were in New Gnisis. So I went east and they said you were in the south."

"Wait, what did you say?" Galmar asked, coming up to Eirik's side. "New Gnisis? Ain't that the name of some corner-club in the Grey Quarter of Windhelm?"

"Your pardon, sir," the rider continued. "New Gnisis is the name of the capital of Eastmarch."

"Windhelm!" roared Galmar. "Those elves dare to violate the City of Ysgramor!"

"From what I heard at the inn," the rider continued. "The Temple of Talos has been burned down, the names of the kings carved out of the stones of the city and effigies of the dark elf god Vivec are drawn in their place." He then turned to Eirik. "When I went south, I heard that you were a wanted man in Riften. I was about to go to Cyrodiil when a friend of yours said you were going west, into Falkreath. And so here I am..." The rider reached into a bag that hung from his shoulder on a strap and handed to Eirik a letter.

"To deliver this message to you," he said, as he handed the letter to Eirik. Upon receiving it, Eirik saw that there was no name but a white-X drawn across the heavy envelope.

"Do you know who sent this letter?" Eirik asked.

"They didn't say," said the courier. "Well, now that I've found you, I must be off. I have many important deliveries to make."

The courier spurred his horse and then took off, heading east down the road that would take him towards Riverwood. Meanwhile, Eirik opened the letter and read therefrom. The script was structured, obviously one well-learned, and the hand was unfamiliar to Eirik. Herein was what was written in the letter.

_To Eirik the Dragonborn,_

_Word has reached us of your dissatisfaction with the Black-Briar family and their cronies the Thieves Guild. We are aware of your attempts to secure outside aid, from both the Jarl of Solitude and the former Jarl of Windhelm, but to no avail. We at the Society of Mercantile Freedom in Riften have many connections, through which we learned of your intentions and now we come to you, asking for your help._

_Aware as we are of your affiliations with the Stormcloak rebellion, it would behoove you to bring to the attention of Vulwulf Snow-Shod of Riften, one who was rumored to have been ordained by you to be Jarl of Riften in place of Maven Black-Briar, how he has been used by the Black-Briar family like the rest of the people of Riften. With his financial support, we will certainly be able to bring down the Black-Briars, the Thieves Guild and see justice brought to Riften. The information in this letter will certainly prove useful in persuading him. _

_We look forward to working with you. Come to Riften at once to speak to us. Leave a white-X on the door of your house and we will contact you._

_The Society of Mercantile Freedom in Riften_

Eirik saw that there was an attachment letter folded up inside the main note. Upon further examination, he saw that there were three letters inside, all of them folded up and with broken seals. The largest and most official looking note Eirik read first.

_By Order of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, on the Nineteenth Day of Midyear in the Two Hundred and First Year of the Fourth Era, to Laila the Law-Giver, Jarl of Riften_

_A delivery of three hundred swords, four hundred shields, three hundred axes, one hundred and fifty maces, seven hundred jerkins of leather armor, three hundred suits of steel armor, seven hundred bows and seven thousand arrows is to be delivered to Dynthor the Renowned, Quartermaster of the Stormcloak garrison of Eastmarch._

_-Ulfric Stormcloak_

The next letter was smaller and had a small seal with a ring of thorns upon it.

_In accordance with Jarl Laila the Law-Giver's wishes to deliver the above-mentioned weapons and armor to Ulfric Stormcloak in Windhelm, Vulwulf Snow-Shod agrees to pay the sum of twenty thousand septims to the undersigned for the delivery of said weapons and armor to the city of Windhelm._

_-Maven Black-Briar_

The last letter was the smallest, a hastily scribbled note in the same hand as the last one.

_To General Tullius,_

_I have intercepted a shipment of weapons and armor from Windhelm and sent them to Legate Hrollod in Eastmarch. He will oversee that they arrive to supply the Legion. Such irony that the Stormcloak rebels are sending money to those who will see their downfall._

_-M B.B._

Eirik turned to Lydia and gave the last two letters to her for safe-keeping, while he walked over to the other Sons of Skyrim. Dynthor, an old bald man with a short beard, approached as Eirik called his hand. Eirik handed him the second letter: since quartermasters were expected to be skilled in keeping accounts of the weapons, gear and supplies, they were usually learned, even in the Stormcloaks.

"Well?" Eirik asked as he saw the old man look over the note. "What do you make of it?"

"This is from last year," he said. "I never received any such weapons from Riften. We had to raid several bandit camps to find weapons for the men."

"We have the evidence, my friends," Eirik said Dynthor, a smile on his face. "The Black-Briars are traitors, serving Imperial interests over those of our people. As their Empire did, they violated the peace treaty of High Hrothgar. Today we will do what we must: we will go to Riften and drive out the Black-Briars and their Imperial friends."

Galmar cried out in triumph and the Sons of Skyrim took up the refrain. Eirik, meanwhile, took the letter back from Dynthor and stowed it away on his person. They would have to leave immediately and arrive in Riften shortly or there would be no time to plan a successful takeover before they were discovered. There might be an even greater garrison in Riften as opposed to Falkreath.

* * *

><p>Two days then passed as they made their way back to Riften by way of the mountains, going not around towards Whiterun. Using the carts they had used to take Falkreath, they moved east, towards Riften. They had been attacked by wolves and a troll in the mountains, but Kjellbjorn and Noralv were more than a match for the troll and the wolves fled after three were cut down. By the time they passed down into the Rift, slowly growing green with the coming of spring, they had recovered from the wounds they had taken in the battle. In the woods of the Rift, however, they encountered an ogre that had come down from the Jerall Mountains. It ran back to the mountains when Eirik shouted at it with his Voice and proved to be little more than an annoyance.<p>

When at last they arrived on the borders of Riften, coming into the town by the southern gate, they did not declare themselves or charge the Imperial guards at the gates immediately. They exited the carts and Eirik told them to find somewhere to stay for the night, whether in the Bee and Barb or Aerin's house, while he went in search of Vulwulf Snow-Shod. While they dispersed, Eirik made his way to the Bee and Barb along with several others who were looking to purchase rooms. Passing through the market-square of Riften, he saw several bodies hanging from newly-erected scaffolds in the center of the town. Crows also clung to those scaffolds, periodically tearing out bits of flesh of the bodies left to hang in the sun.

The inn seemed rather dreary, especially since there was no bard at his lute or singing. Eirik did not purchase anything yet as he and Lydia scanned the tavern for Vulwulf. Lydia asked Talen-Jei, the Argonian proprietor, for a description, and he said to look for the old Nord making the most noise. They found him, a well-dressed old man drinking away in a corner alone. Eirik approached him first and spoke.

"Master Snow-Shod?" he greeted.

"Hmm?" the old man asked. "Ah, a fellow kinsman. I hope you're not cowing to the Empire like the rest of them. Damn those Imperial bastards! They might have killed Ulfric, but the spirit of freedom will not die in Skyrim."

"That's why I'm here," Eirik said. "May I sit down?"

"Oh, by all means," Vulwulf said, waving to an empty seat. He then turned towards the bar. "Talen, more beer! On me!"

"I think you've had enough, Vulwulf," said Talen-Jei. "Maybe you should head home."

"I've had enough when I say I've had enough!" retorted Vulwulf. "Now get me another round or I'll have your head!"

"As you wish," Talen-Jei replied, then muttered something that none of them could hear.

"Stupid lizard," grumbled Vulwulf. "If I want to drown my sorrows over the sorry state of my homeland, then by Talos, I'll damn well do that!"

"The war," Eirik said.

"Aye, the war," said Vulwulf. "Those Imperial scum are romping through _our_ homeland without a second thought, killing our people and raping our traditions. And I, Vulwulf Snow-Shod, have lost the most out of this awful affair!"

"How have you lost more than anyone else?" Eirik asked.

"Both of my children are dead!" he returned. "My firstborn Lilija was cut down earlier last year, and she wasn't even a combatant: she was a healer, a battle-maiden. Then my second-born Asgeir was killed at the fiasco in Solitude."

"What fiasco?" Eirik asked.

"Don't you know, young man?" asked Vulwulf. "It was about the nineteenth day of Frostfall last year. That was when my son Asgeir was to marry Vittoria Vici. She was the late Emperor's cousin on his mother's side. Then they both died, crushed under a fallen stone statue. Pushed, I say, by an Imperial agent!"

"Are you quite sure it was the Empire?" Eirik asked.

"I was there," he said. "It was a trap and I knew it in my bones. Those sycophantic toadies mocking our people, mocking my son, it was all a sham! Of course the Empire would use this as an attempt to frame us!"

"But why kill the Emperor's cousin also?" asked Eirik.

"She _was_ the target," he reasoned. "Whoever did it wanted to cast blame on the Stormcloaks for the death of the Emperor's cousin. Obviously the Empire would do that since they would want further support from the people of Skyrim as well as the provinces back home. My son was killed only out of spite, damn Imperials!"

"I have it on good authority," Eirik said. "That you've had dealings with supporters of the Empire."

"Lies, all of it!" he roared. "The only dealings the Snow-Shod family have had was at that farce of a wedding..." He sighed. "...and my days in the Legion."

"What about Maven Black-Briar?" Eirik asked.

"What about her?" he returned.

"You had business with her?"

Vulwulf grumbled. "She said that she would offer aid to the Stormcloaks."

"So you accepted her offer?"

"Look, I know she's a filthy, no-good, Imperial whore," Vulwulf replied. "But dammit, people don't win wars without money!"

"And this was written down?" Eirik asked. "Of course it would be written down, twenty thousand septims is quite a lot of money to commit to any enterprise. You'd want that in writing in case something happened to your money, wouldn't you?"

"How do you know that?" Vulwulf asked. Eirik then turned to Lydia, who produced the third letter, which he gave to Vulwulf. After reading it, the old man turned to Kee-Rava, the barmaid, as she brought a bottle of mead to their table. Taking the bottle and pouring for himself, he then handed the letter back to Eirik.

"You seem to be well-connected," he returned. "Are you sure you're not a traitor? You're not some Imperial spy who's sold us out like those damn dark elves did at Windhelm?"

"I am on your side," Eirik said. "As long as you are on the side of Skyrim."

"Well, that I am!" he returned. "But how did you get a hold of this? And what does this mean? Do you intend to blackmail me over my support of a cause that has failed?"

Eirik turned then to Lydia, who produced the last letter. This he also gave to Vulwulf, who read it over, drinking from his tankard while he read. Eirik knew when he spotted the words for the old man almost choked on his beer.

"That b*tch!" he roared. "I should have known. Never trust one whose god is money. They have no honor and no allegiance to anyone!"

"Do you see now how you were deceived?" Eirik asked.

"Still," grumbled Vulwulf grimly. "There's nothing that can be done about this. Ulfric is dead and there is nobody who could..."

"There are those who will not stand up to this," Eirik said. "I am one of them. I am chief captain of the Sons of Skyrim."

"Really?" asked Vulwulf. "The Sons of Skyrim?" He looked about the inn, making sure he wasn't being overheard, then leaned in and spoke. "I heard about your little band, and how they took Falkreath in only four days with less than fifty men!"

"Twenty-three is the precise number," Lydia added.

"So, you've come to Riften to help us, eh?" he asked, chuckling. "Now _that_ is good news. But how do you intend to do it? They say the Black-Briars have the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood on their side! And with the Imperial garrison..."

"I have a plan," Eirik said. "Just mark your door with a white-X tonight and someone will come and see you."

"How can I be sure they can be trusted?" asked Vulwulf.

"They are from the Society for Mercantile Freedom in Riften," Eirik said. "I will send them to you and they will say that Eirik sent them. Let them in and listen to what they have planned. I will give them specific instructions regarding what I intend to do."

* * *

><p>When nightfall came, Eirik and Lydia had retired to Aerin's house in the city. It was almost completely filled, as the former city guards were being housed here as well. Aerin found the white-X that Eirik put on the door of his house strange, but he did not protest. At least an hour passed and the former city guards and the Sons of Skyrim were eating and drinking and making merry when a knock sounded at the door. Aerin answered the door and a man dressed in rich clothes walked into the house. He then turned to Eirik.<p>

"You're the one, aren't you?" he said. "The one we sent the letter to."

"You're with the..."

"Society of Mercantile Freedom in Riften," he repeated. "My name is Sextus Meridius. I had hoped that we would speak, ever since Ingun Black-Briar mentioned you."

"Ingun Black-Briar?" Eirik asked. "But I thought you didn't treat with them."

"We don't," Sextus said as he took a seat. "But she has been most helpful, especially concerning you. The information we sent to you if of the utmost importance. It will be essential in breaking the monopoly the Black-Briars hold on this city."

"Tell me about it," Eirik said, sitting across from him.

"It's really simple, though," Sextus began. "The only business in Riften is the Black-Briar meadery. Anyone else has to pay Maven Black-Briar for protection from the Thieves Guild. It's rather futile and insulting, though, because if they don't submit to _her_ racketeering, they're robbed by the Thieves Guild. It's impossible to do business in this city and the people suffer because of it. With every business that closes because of Maven Black-Briar, more people are laid off and sent into the Ratways or out of town. She won't hire them back because she fills her rosters with her friends and those who are easily maintained."

"Shameful," Eirik said.

"I've heard," Sextus continued. "That you have a mind to join us in our enterprise. Perhaps we will see the Black-Briar monopoly ended and Maven put out of business."

Eirik sighed. "I fear you are mistaken."

"What?" asked Sextus. "You don't want to help us now?"

"No," Eirik returned. "I feel for the people of Riften and want to see them saved from the yoke of the Black-Briars, but my purpose is not mercantile freedom in Riften. I do not intend to drive the Black-Briars out of business, I intend to drive them all out of Riften permanently and send the Thieves Guild packing with them."

At this Sextus chuckled, but halted when he saw the serious look on Eirik's face. "You can't be serious. Maven Black-Briar is one thing, but the Thieves Guild have been in Riften for hundreds of years. No one abhors their lawless activities more than I and my colleagues do, but it just can't be done!"

"I _will_ do it," Eirik said. "Tomorrow I will drive the Thieves Guild out of Riften and the Black-Briars with them. But I will need your help."

"You seem to have everything in hand already," Sextus returned. "Why do you need my help?"

"Destroy the Black-Briar assets," Eirik said. "I mean to drive them out of Riften and insure that they never return. They must not have any means of gaining financial strength in this town."

"You want us to burn down Goldenglow Estate?" he asked.

"Do whatever you need to do to get rid of their assets," Eirik said.

"We're not a mercenary outfit," said Sextus. "You must understand that it will take a while."

"No," Eirik shook his head. "It must be done tonight."

"Tonight?" exclaimed Sextus. "You _are_ insane! There's no way that we could destroy Maven Black-Briar's assets in only one night!"

"It must be done tonight," Eirik said. "Because we move tomorrow to take the city. This is all I ask of you: you give me her assets and I'll give you freedom."

"How do you propose to do this?" asked Sextus.

* * *

><p>Early in the morning, as the grey dawn was arising above the Velothi Mountains, a small number of men were making their way in a boat westward, towards the Goldenglow Estate upon the island. Leading them was Galmar Stone-First of the Sons of Skyrim. An elite force had been assigned to this important task: aside from Galmar and a few mercenaries hired by the Society of Mercantile Freedom in Riften, Halldor the Ranger, Ulli the Keen-Eyed and Svenn were sent as well. Those who would be fighting in the city of Riften would have no need of archers or rangers, since those would be better used at the Estate.<p>

They rowed their little boat as swiftly and quietly as possible. According to Sextus' information, Goldenglow Estate had been attacked earlier last year in a hostile takeover by the Black-Briars through the Thieves Guild and the guard around the complex had been increased. While Galmar disliked the idea of a sneak attack, both Eirik and Sextus agreed that the likelihood of the Black-Briars being alerted to their plans prematurely would increase if they charged up to the draw-bridge of the estate, swords and axes a-swinging.

Ulli held her breath as she pushed against the water with her oar, keeping an eye on the island for any sign of movement. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end with each stroke of the oars. There was just enough light that a keen-eyed patrolman on the island could see them. There would be no time to draw a bow and fire at them, even for herself and Halldor, keen-eyed archers, the greatest of Skyrim's bowmen. But those on the island, who walked with weapons on themselves and in close reach, would be able to shoot them down as soon as they saw them.

This was the first time in at least three years that she had fought without her mother Perla at her side. She prayed that Talos would guard her mother during the battle in the walls of the city and that she, Ulli, would survive the assault on Goldenglow Estate.

"Steady there, girl," Galmar whispered to her. "Any more of that and they'll notice our approach."

Ulli realized that she was gripping her oar tighter than she had thought and was pushing harder into the water. She relaxed her hands and kept her eyes trained forward. Talos willing, the Dragonborn would do his duty. From the fields of the fallen Imperials and Stormcloaks in the Battle of Heljarchen Vale to the Siege of Windhelm she and Perla had come, despite all the wounds and dangers they had encountered. Her eyes, green as the aspens now coming back into the green of spring, had seen the rise, downfall and rebirth of her people, all at the hands of Eirik the Dragonborn. Having seen him call a dragon down upon the Imperial Legion, something she felt an impossibility for mortal men to do, made her certain that the Dragonborn was more than just a mere mortal. If he wanted to take Riften, he would do it.

She calmed herself with a sigh of relief and pushed quietly against the waters with her oar.

* * *

><p>In the city of Riften, a company of men made their way towards the Ratways, with Eirik Bjornsson at the lead. Almost a year ago he had walked this very path before in search of Esbern of the Blades. Little did he know of the ambush that had awaited him below, both in the Ragged Flagon, the hideout of the Thieves Guild, as well as the Thalmor agents in the Warrens. He had walked blindly into a trap before, but this time he would be the one preparing a trap unawares for the Thieves Guild. He would not be the one to be held down and beaten by them, he would be the one to be beating them out of town.<p>

With each step forward, they heard the frantic whispers of the reprobates and the poor lining the corridors of the Ratways. More than a few of them, Eirik guessed, were spies for the Thieves Guild or for Maven Black-Briar. They did not speak much, for they did not wish to be heard by any in these dark corridors. At last, however, they came to a place where there was a grating in the roof which shone down light onto the room. Here the Sons of Skyrim, shy the four who went to Goldenglow Estate with Sextus' mercenaries, halted and gasped for air.

"It's so stuffy down here!" groaned Bjorn. "I much rather prefer the open woods of Falkreath."

"Aye," Eirik stated. "I miss the woods as well."

"I feel that we should have attacked the keep, Mistveil," Ralof spoke up. "There are too many eyes here. If we succeed, we may find the keep already held against us and the Imperial garrison alerted to our presence."

"Thankfully," Eirik said. "Our entrance is a short walk away from the gates of Mistveil Keep. We shouldn't have much trouble getting in once we're done here."

"What about the gate?" asked Thorald.

"He'll shout the gates down if he has to," Lydia said with a smile, then turned back to Eirik. "Won't you, my thane?"

"If it comes to that," Eirik said. "Then aye, I might just have to. For now, we have to keep moving. Down that tunnel for several dozen paces, then over a bridge and to the left."

"How do you know which way to go in this dark, dank, foul place?" asked Perla.

"I've been here before," Eirik said, as he turned towards the tunnel. One by one they passed into the tunnel, with Lydia following swiftly behind her thane.

"When was this again?" she asked. "When you left me to mind Breezehome?"

"It was after the time I visited Solitude for the feast," Eirik said. "Must have been the first day of Heartfire last year. Gods above, has it been that long?"

"Maybe we can talk about this," Lydia said. "Over a mug at the Bee and Barb after we're done here? This tunnel makes our voices louder, even when we whisper."

They walked on in silence, their shuffling footsteps on the filthy floor echoing through the groaning of the poor and destitute or the dripping of water coming through a miniscule crack in the masonry far away. They heard no sound of pursuit or approach, only a blind old beggar with his cane tapping on the floor and a small skeever scurrying along the floor. Suddenly Kjellbjorn cried out and there was a loud sound of stomping and grunting. Turning around, Eirik saw Kjellbjorn stomping the skeever out with his foot.

"What in Oblivion is wrong?" Eirik hissed. "We have to keep quiet."

"I'm sorry, sir," Kjellbjorn replied. "I hate skeevers."

The company pressed on, arriving at the bridge as Eirik had predicted. A short passage over it and they found another wide room, filled with more of those they had encountered on the way here. These however were grim-faced and fell-eyed. None of them were unarmed and they eyed the Sons of Skyrim with distrust, fear, envy and even anger. These were the dregs of the folk of Riften, the worst of the worst. These folk, even more down on their luck than the usual ones, were employed as initiates by the Thieves Guild to act as agents, messengers and petty thieves.

"Watch yourselves," Eirik said. "We're almost there."

Beyond this room they entered upon a descending passage which led to a large door at the bottom of the stairs of the passage. Beyond the door was a wide room with a domed ceiling and a cistern of water in the midst of the room. There was a strong scent of honey mead in the air, the sickly-sweet smell of Black-Briar mead. As the Sons of Skyrim entered the hall-like tavern, several people approached them. They were dressed in leather gear and bore no weapons other than knives. Of those who approached, three of them stood out. One of them was a Colovian woman who was so hideous that Eirik could have sworn that she was a high elf: squinting eyes, mouth pursed in a scowl and skin so sallow it looked as yellow as her hair. The next man, a Colovian, looked so much like Crixus - bald head and beard stubble included - that Eirik felt his own blood boiling at the sight of him. The third man, another Colovian, looked like a Nord, fair skin and blond hair: this one Eirik remembered all too well.

"What the hell is this?" the bald Colovian asked. Even his accent reminded Eirik of Crixus. He clenched his teeth as he stared them down.

"The Thieves Guild are finished," Eirik said. "You and your boys better pack up and leave Riften."

Those behind the three burst out into laughter. Even the two Colovians laughed, but the woman, so pale and fair-haired that she could have been mistaken for a Nord, glared at Eirik with disdain. He thought he recalled that face before, having seen it in a fight somewhere in the streets of Riften at night.

"Are you on skooma, lad?" the bald Colovian asked. "We own this town! Now you and your boys better piss off before something bad happens to you permanently."

"Are you deaf, Cyrodilian?" Eirik asked, intentionally using the pejorative to catch the bald man's attention. "I said you're leaving Riften. Now!"

"On whose authority, snow-back?" the bald one retorted with a slight chuckle.

"Mine," Eirik returned.

"And who are you?" asked the bald one. "Some self-righteous idiot thinking they can save Riften from us like that Lioness b*tch?" Eirik struck down the bald Colovian with his fist, sending him crashing back into his comrades with a bloody, broken nose.

"Ask your cronies," Eirik said, looking at the two at his side. "They'll tell you who I am." He then looked at the blond Colovian. "Do you remember me, ass-hole?"

"I remember a weakling," said Dirge. Those behind him laughed and Eirik grew impatient and angry, remembering the humility he suffered under this man and his brother.

"I kill dragons, ass-hole," Eirik said to Dirge. "You'll be nothing for me to handle."

"Ooh, I'm scared!" mocked Dirge. "You and that army of nineteen behind you, I take it. Because you're too much of a coward and a weakling to face a real man in single combat!"

"You should really mind your manners," Eirik returned, clenching his teeth. "I have an army with me, how many do you have?"

"More than you'd believe, snow-back," the bald Colovian returned.

"Don't bother, Delvin," the ugly woman said to the bald Colovian. "I'll handle this." She then turned to Eirik, her squint eyes scrutinizing him with disdain.

"You're obviously lost, friend," she said venomously. "I suggest you leave here at once. You have no idea who you're messing with. Cross us and we'll turn all your friends against you, we'll buy the loyalty of any Jarl or thane you serve under, we'll rob you blind and leave your ass out in the cold dead of night: we will fucking ruin you, ass-hole! Do you _really_ want to challenge that?"

"Your threats don't mean anything to me," Eirik said, a reckless fire burning in his eyes as he spoke. "I've stared down the face of the World-Eater, fought vampires that would have killed you all in your sleep, tangled with the greatest sorcerer of Solstheim, I've ran Imperial blockades twice! There's no threat you can lay on me that will scare me, not after I've stared into the eyes of death and walked through the fire of the dragon's breath."

"Bold words," the woman returned. "You certainly haven't shown any capacity for that when we met you."

"Don't tempt me, woman!" Eirik retorted. "My patience with your guild is growing thin!"

"You can't kill the Thieves Guild," said the woman. "We have friends all over Tamriel! You could never wipe us out! And so what if you drive us out of Skyrim, huh? Someone else will take our place!"

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_"

The cluster of thieves before him went flying back, knocking over tables and spilling their contents on the ground or into the cistern: coins, gilded furniture, dishes, statuettes, gemstones, necklaces, maps and Altmeri tapestries. While those who had confronted them were knocked back, Eirik gave orders for his men to pin them down and secure them immediately.

"If they give you any trouble," he said. "Feel free to hit them. But leave Dirge alive."

While the Sons of Skyrim hurried over to secure those who had been overcome, there was a loud thud of a door being opened before them and several others came rushing out of a hallway into the tavern-like cistern. These were also clad in the leather garb of the Thieves Guild, though Eirik had never seen any of these before. If any of them he had seen, it was the red-haired man dressed in all black who was at their head, a bow in his hand that he bent and had aimed at them. At his side was a Dunmer woman whom Eirik had never seen before, dressed all in black and armed with a black bow just like the red-haired Nord.

Then suddenly there appeared someone whom Eirik knew, and for whom he harbored no ill-will. It seemed like forever and ago since he last saw this face, since before he fought the vampires of Clan Volkihar, or crossed beyond the doors of death and entered the Soul Cairn: before his battle with Alduin, before Miraak's Dunmer servants had appeared at Arcwind Pass and before he had even met Mjoll the Lioness.

"You!" the young Breton man greeted with a smile. "By the Cowl of Gray Fox, I never thought I'd see you again!" The young man was a bit taken aback by the sight of the armed men standing with swords, axes and maces over his comrades, but moreso by the sight of this one.

"Who is this man, my thane?" Lydia, who remained at Eirik's side, asked. "You know him?"

"Of course he knows me!" said the young man. "You remember me, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember," Eirik said grimly.

"Ettiene, who is this man?" asked the red-haired Nord.

"Master Brynjolf," Ettiene began. "This man is one in a thousand. He is the one I've been telling you about, he rescued me from the Thalmor embassy last year. Didn't even know me or anything, he just got me out of prison and fought off the elves to give me a safe escape."

"You helped the Thieves Guild, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"I didn't know he was with them before," said Eirik.

"I've heard quite a bit about you, Eirik Bjornsson," said the red-haired Nord whom Ettiene named as Brynjolf. "I heard that you assaulted members of the Thieves Guild last year when you first arrived here. There are also rumors that you're that legendary Dragonborn or whatever. Well, unfortunately for you, I don't take stock in old myths or legends. What I see is that you have, once again, attacked the Thieves Guild. That cannot be allowed to go unpunished."

"I told him what would happen to us if he..." the Colovian woman, lying against a counter on the side of the room, pinned under Perla's axe, began.

"I've got this, Vex," said Brynjolf, then turned back to Eirik. "As she said, it can be _very_ taxing to cross the Thieves Guild. But that doesn't mean that we have to be enemies now, does it? My sources have gathered quite a lot of information about you. They say that you've started up some kind of rebellion against the Empire, perhaps inspired by the unfortunate demise of Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"You seem to know quite a bit," Eirik retorted.

"We have many friends," said Brynjolf. "And while we will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim, we are not ignorant to the benefits of...certain mergers of interest."

"What do you mean by that?" Eirik asked.

"Come now, Bjornsson," Brynjolf returned. "You're an educated man, surely you know that a rebellion needs money for weapons, for armor, for food and supplies, for capital in asserting their influence throughout the holds. Think about it: the Nords love their land, the Empire loves peace, the high elves love their Dominion, the Dunmer love their daedra, everyone loves money. With the right means, one could boon or bankrupt any Jarl or hold they wish. Why, with that, you'd be able to win any war without the shedding of any blood!"

"And what would that cost me?" Eirik returned.

"Nothing," said Brynjolf. "Just turn around, go back the way you came and forget about all of this."

"Do you think I'm that easy to buy off?" Eirik asked. "I'm a poor man..."

"All the more reason to accept this offer," said Brynjolf. "To improve your station in life."

"...I have survived on limited means," said Eirik. "And I will continue to survive on them until the gods see fit to bless me, but I will not accept your bribe."

"Every man has a price, Bjornsson," said Brynjolf.

"I have no price," Eirik returned.

"Not even news of the whereabouts of your beloved Lioness?" asked Brynjolf.

Eirik visibly twitched when Brynjolf mentioned Mjoll. He drew his great-sword forth, having the Dunmer woman aim her bow at him exclusively. The Sons of Skyrim behind and around Eirik awaited his command, eager to draw blood. The Thieves Guild members waited, examining their enemies for weaknesses. Eirik approached Brynjolf, sword drawn, and, pointing his sword at the red-haired Nord, addressed him directly.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"All of us here know Mjoll the Lioness," said Brynjolf. "I've even ran into her several times at the market-place in town. Terribly narrow-minded, unhealthily self-righteous and far too trusting..." Eirik rested his sword on Brynjolf's left shoulder, right at the neck. "...but I know of her. And I know that someone came looking for her."

"Who?"

"An Argonian," said Brynjolf. "Calls himself 'Tarvis'. Used to work for us until he went free-lance."

Eirik paused as he heard Brynjolf mention the name. He had heard that name before, on the Windhelm docks upon returning to Skyrim from a long journey to Solstheim. He had threatened to claim Mjoll for his own and was making advances upon her as one would do to a lover.

"When was this?" asked Eirik.

"Eleventh of Morning Star, this year," said Brynjolf. "Tarvis came to Riften asking if they knew where Mjoll the Lioness could be found. I brought him down here and told him that she hadn't been seen in Riften for a long time. He then tried to hire some of my people to work for him for something or whatever, I don't recall. I told him that I had bigger plans in mind than helping an ex-Thieves Guild member take a lover."

"So where is Mjoll?" Eirik asked.

"Wherever Tarvis is," Brynjolf replied.

"And where is that?"

"He doesn't exactly leave an address at the local courier. I've heard that he frequents Whiterun, but I doubt you'll find him there."

"Why?"

"Tarvis doesn't _live_ there, he just stays there from time to time. Alright, I've told you what you wanted to know. Now turn around and walk out of here."

Eirik looked at the Thieves Guild standing before him: a wretched hive of scum and villainy if ever he saw one. These folk had no qualms about taking a man's hard-earned money just for the sake of lining their pockets, and from the piles of gold coins and gold dishes and rich booty he had seen strewn about their lair after his Thu'um knocked the others down, they neither needed it nor were they "chivalrous thieves" who redistributed their ill-gotten gains to the down-trodden and destitute.

He then turned to the Sons of Skyrim, his friends and second family during the rough times he was now facing. They were all looking at him, waiting for him to make the next move or give the next order. Doubtless there were those among them, such as Ovlin here present, who grew up in the Rift and lived under the tyranny of the Thieves Guild. Would he betray them for...nothing?

Slowly Eirik turned back to Brynjolf, anger in his eyes. "You promised me Mjoll's whereabouts and you gave me nothing!"

"I told you where to find her!" Brynjolf retorted. "Just find Tarvis and you'll find your Lioness!"

"He did do that, my thane," Lydia said. "At least now we have a name to ask for when we search for her."

Eirik gave Lydia a disapproving glance and she meekly looked down at the gold at her feet, while Eirik turned back to Brynjolf. There was silence in the Ragged Flagon, only the dripping of water echoing from the other side of the room. Eirik looked over at Ettiene, wide-eyed with shock at seeing his rescuer threatening his employers and his friends, who shook his head. Then, strangely, Eirik let down his great-sword.

"I won't kill you," he said. "But you will leave Skyrim, starting first with this place. Leave Riften, all of you, and then leave Skyrim. If you ever return here, I will kill you."

Brynjolf nodded, then let down his bow. The Dunmer woman whispered something at him, but he shook his head, then turned to the others.

"You heard these fine gentlemen," he said. "We're being kicked out of our own home. Might as well oblige, since they're seeing us to the door by the edge of theirs swords."

"Over my dead body!" a Nord shouted.

"Vekel, no!"

"I ain't lettin' no milk-drinkin' pussy tell me to get outta nowhere!" the one named Vekel shouted, drawing out a dagger as he slid out from under Bjorn's foot and ran for Eirik, dagger raised. But Lydia, who saw him approach, struck him down with her shield and then pinned him to the ground, with one foot on his chest and her sword at his throat.

"Who is this man," Ralof asked. "Who dares raise a hand against the Dragonborn?"

"He's our man," said Brynjolf. "His name is Vekel. He's a bit..."

"He stays with us," Eirik said, then pointed his sword at Dirge. "This one as well."

Brynjolf then told his fellow thieves to drop their weapons and prepare to leave. Eirik permitted those they had captured to be released, but instructed the Sons of Skyrim to watch them carefully. Some of them immediately began making their way to the overturned piles of coins and other valuables but Eirik told his men to forbid them.

"It's our stuff," said Brynjolf. "It comes with us."

"You leave this place," Eirik returned. "With nothing but the clothes upon your backs: no weapons, no supplies, no records and no loot. A thief has no right to the gold he has stolen."

"We'll see about that," Brynjolf added.

"You will also," Eirik continued. "Leave Riften by the shortest route possible. There will be no clandestine messages sent to Mistveil Keep, no secret words whispered as you pass them by. You leave on my terms and my terms alone."

"This is outrageous!" Brynjolf exclaimed. "You send these good people out into the wilds to fend for themselves, without weapons or-or money..."

"Good?" Eirik retorted. "Good? The Imperial Legion is full of good men! I see no good men or women before me, only bandits, self-serving thugs who would sell each other out for a little bit of coin."

"Are you any different?" Brynjolf asked. "You're driving us out for your own ends."

"What I do here today," Eirik returned. "I do for the people of Skyrim. Your little guild is a blight on the people and must be removed."

"In time," Brynjolf said with a smirk. "You will see that you need us."

"You seem to know," Eirik returned. "Or at least think you know, quite a bit about me."

"I have many friends," Brynjolf smirked.

"Get a move on!" Eirik shouted. "I'm a busy man."

Brynjolf then told the others to make their way towards the outer Ratways, back the way which Eirik and the Sons of Skyrim had entered the Ratways. Eirik and the others led them out from behind, weapons drawn. They would lead them out to the back gate of Riften and see them out as soon as possible. Brynjolf was at the very back, with Vekel and Dirge who were both bound and gagged. Eirik was at the front of the Sons of Skyrim, watching Brynjolf and their two prisoners.

The way back to the surface was almost surreal. As they passed by the worst of the reprobates, these fled into the shadows, looks of fear on their faces. After the bridge and they came to those who were only here for poverty's sake, there was much rejoicing and cheering and some even spat at the Thieves Guild members. For them, the oppressors were no longer in power: justice had finally come to the Rift.

* * *

><p>In the streets of Riften, the Thieves Guild were being driven to the southern gate. As they reached the gate, one by one they were pushed towards the doors. Meanwhile, Eirik was watching the Imperial soldiers who were made to guard the city after the Empire took over the city. They would cause quite a stir dragging the Thieves Guild out of the city, some of them in chains, with the Sons of Skyrim heavily armed. The time was now upon them: whether Galmar and the others had succeeded in taking care of Goldenglow Estate mattered not. Soon the streets would be stained with the blood of the Legion.<p>

Even now, as Eirik was scanning the city streets, he noticed several Imperial guards making their way towards them. The blood-bath would soon be upon them. Behind him walked Brynjolf, the last of the Thieves Guild to leave Riften. He looked over his left shoulder and saw the Imperials approaching.

"Looks like you've got company," he said.

"That is my burden to bear," Eirik retorted. "It doesn't matter to you."

"Give my regards to Crixus, Eirik Dragonborn," Brynjolf added with a wink and a smile and then walked out of the southern gates of Riften. Eirik turned to look back after him, surprised at what he had said, when suddenly the guards called out to him.

"Put down your weapons," said one of the guards.

"Why?" Ralof asked.

"According to Imperial law," the guard replied. "No one may bear weapons in Imperial cities save the Imperial guard."

"This isn't Cyrodiil," Eirik said, turning around. "We are free in this land."

"You Nords are a troublesome lot," said the guard. "The Emperor died in your country, your people need to learn to obey Imperial law. Now drop your weapons or we'll deliver you up to the Jarl."

Another guard chuckled, pointing towards the scaffolds. "You see what happens to those who cross her?"

"Sons of Skyrim!" Eirik shouted. "To battle! Sovngarde awaits!"

The Legion guard in Riften posed very little threat. Many of them spent too much time at the Bee and Barb while off duty or at the Black-Briar meadery and had grown too relaxed in their duties (doubtless Crixus would blame the Nordic members of the garrison for this failing). Nevertheless, they were in larger numbers and the Sons of Skyrim were hard-pressed to hold them back. The Sons of Skyrim were armed only with the weapons that they had brought with them since they left Windhelm, while the Legion had the finest weapons and armor that money could buy, constantly being tended to and cared for, sharpened and buffed for just such a time.

In the thick of battle, something suddenly came upon Eirik; a knowledge he did not previously know that he had. Perhaps they were images of the Battle of Heljarchen Vale coming back to his mind after so long lying dormant. He called for the men to break off and then charge again, with shields held up in the shield wall formation. At the vanguard there stood Calder, Inghild, Lalla, Maldor, Lydia and Thorald Grey-Mane, shields in their hands, turning back the blows of the Imperial gladius swords and holding them at bay. Behind them the guards at the southern gate were swiftly executed by Falke Four-Fingers.

"Secure the gate!" Eirik shouted.

Noralv and Kjellbjorn broke off from the fighting and ran to the southern gate, leaping over the bodies of the gate-guards as they went. With their great strength, the two of them alone slammed the heavy wooden door and drew across its span the bar. Now only a besieging force with a battering ram could have gotten through the southern gate, and that only after a good many swings of the oaken ram.

Now without the threat of being attacked from behind, the shield wall pushed forward. Inch by inch they pushed their way up to the great wooden doors leading to the courtyard of Mistveil Keep. More legionnaires rushed to strike them at their right flank, now exposed as they neared the gate, but Eirik charged towards the flank, sword in hand and sent them sprawling to the ground. Those who were not of the shield wall or actively stabbing, hacking or jabbing at the Imperial guards held back by the shield wall noticed the opening and made their way to Eirik's side. The courtyard of Mistveil Keep was now clear and Kjellbjorn and Noralv ran in, dragging Vekel and Dirge after them.

"Tie them up," Eirik said to them. "Then get to the gates. Don't close them unless I give the command!"

He then ran towards the shield wall, a thick fray of weapons, bodies and blood. Standing up alongside Lydia, he peered through the shield and then shouted: "_Yol...Toor Shul!_"

A blaze of dragon's fire burst forth from his lips, sending the guards hither and yon as the wooden rail behind them burst into flames.

"Back!" Eirik shouted to those at his right and left. "Back to the keep! Close the gate!"

The heavy wooden gate closed as the shield wall scurried through, but those who had recovered from the fire were rushing towards the gates. Short, broad-shouldered Noralv and the mountainous Kjellbjorn heaved the gates shut and secured the gate-bar swiftly. Outside they could hear orders being shouted back and forth: some were sent to fetch water to put out the fires that Eirik's Thu'um had caused. Others were sent to 'the other way'. Was there another way into the courtyard of Mistveil Keep that he did not know about?

"Tear down the gate!" Eirik shouted, pointing towards the keep's iron-bound door. They rushed the much smaller keep gate, only to find that it had been locked. Eirik directed those with shields to stay on guard for Imperial soldiers while those with large weapons, himself, Kjellbjorn, Noralv, Jodis and Valgard took to hacking and pounding away at the door. By one way or another, it _would_ come down. Hack by hack, stab by stab, smash by smash, the gate quivered under each blow: broken bolts and splinters of wood came flying off at any moment under their fury. Suddenly the head of Noralv's hammer got stuck in a chink in the door that they had hewn into it. Several of the others took hold of the haft of the war-hammer and pulled on it, hearing the creaking and cracking of the wooden bar. Then, with one last mighty tug, the door came free.

Eirik was the first one into Mistveil Keep. There were five guards still inside, huddled around the Jarl's throne. With them was a tall, black-haired Nord whom he recognized right off. Behind him he saw Maven Black-Briar, sitting in her throne, a look of casual determination on her face: she was not going to lose, but at the same time she appeared uninterested in the newcomers as if they were nothing more than flies.

"Halt in the name of the Jarl!" roared the large Nord.

"Somehow I doubt that will persuade them, Maul," Maven said to the large one.

"Do you remember me, Maven Black-Briar?" Eirik said to the Jarl.

"All too well," she said. "I must have sent a dozen missives to the Dark Brotherhood, performed the Black Sacrament a hundred times. Yet you just won't die. And now you've come to take my city?"

"It belongs to the people of Riften," Eirik said. "Not to you."

Maven chuckled. "I've been through too much to simply let you take my city away from me." She rose up from her throne, a sword in hand. "If you want my city, you'll have to take it from me personally."

"Protect the Jarl with your lives!" roared Maul at the guards.

Kjellbjorn and Noralv were more than enough to take on the five guards who protected Maven, and within a minute they had torn up the hall, overturning and hacking apart tables in their fury as they hacked down the Imperial guards, coloring the stones of the floor with their blood and severed limbs. They then made their way to Maul who, despite his large size, was swiftly tackled down by both of them, who had seized his arms and placed arms around his neck as if to strangle him.

"Hold!" Eirik said. He then told the others to bring Dirge forward. Slowly he was dragged forward and, upon Eirik's orders, was told to gaze upon Maul. Eirik then took from Ralof his axe and proceeded to hack Maul apart in a fury such as none of them had seen before. Crying and yelling and cursing with each breath, he rained down blow after blow upon the Nord's body. His whole face was covered with blood and nothing remained of Maul's head that was recognizable. Then, face drenched in blood, he turned to Dirge.

"Next time you try to fuck with me," he said, gasping heavily through his teeth, clenched in anger. "I'll send you to Sovngarde in pieces with your base-born brother."

Dirge remained stone-faced and fell-eyed, betraying no emotion as he saw his brother hacked to pieces before him. But Eirik was only further provoked by this action: he kicked him in the groin, then wiped the blade of the axe across Dirge's face, painting him with his brother's blood.

"That's enough," Maven spoke up. "You've clearly beaten my huscarl and my guards. I will step down."

Eirik turned to Maven and heard, a little behind the throne, the sound of whimpering. Crossing over, he kicked the throne aside and saw Maven's son Hemming cowering behind the throne, whimpering and sobbing with his hands over his neck as if expecting a blow. Seizing him by the collar, Eirik lifted him up and dragged him over to Maul's bloodied body.

"And what do you have to say, Black-Briar whelp?" Eirik asked. "Hmm? Does the great warrior quake at the sight of a little blood?"

"Please-Please don't kill me!" Hemming quailed. "I didn't mean it, any of it. I'm not really a fighter at all. Honest! Mama, please don't let him kill me! Please!"

"Oh, stand up for yourself, Hemming!" Maven retorted. "If you're to run the Black-Briar family one day, you need to have the stones for it!"

Eirik looked down and saw that Hemming's fine tailored pants were darkened about the groin and he stank of piss. With a grunt of disgust, he threw him onto the floor and kicked him in the stomach. Hemming cried and curled up into a ball, burying himself on the floor among the blood and piss and spilled mead.

"So what now, Eirik?" she asked. "You'll just drive me out and put that incompetent b*tch Laila the Law-Giver into office again?" She chuckled. "She's my pawn. Even now I tro that she'll be on my side and let me do as I see fit. Your little victory here will have accomplished nothing."

"Nothing?" Eirik laughed grimly.

"I will always be the power behind the throne of Riften," said Maven. "And with the Thieves Guild..."

"The Thieves Guild are finished in Skyrim," Eirik said. "I drove them out of the Ratways this morning."

"A meaningless setback," Maven returned. "I have strong influence in Skyrim. I will build up my strength and then one night you will find a dagger at your throat with my name on it."

"I'm afraid," Eirik gasped. "That _that_ won't happen either. I had Goldenglow Estate burned to the ground. Your little mead franchise is finished, and now, I plan on kicking your ass all the way to the border of Cyrodiil."

"You can't do this to me!" Maven retorted. "I am Maven Black-Briar! I _own_ Riften!"

"Not anymore," Eirik said. "You are worth nothing, own nothing and now...you and your brood of vipers have no nest. It's time to leave."

* * *

><p>The exit of the Sons of Skyrim from Mistveil Keep could not have been more markedly different than their exit from the long-house of the Jarl of Falkreath. Those few Imperial guards who remained put up little fight and after seven had fallen, they threw their arms down and surrendered. When the people of Riften saw Maven Black-Briar being dragged out of Mistveil Keep with chains about her, some of them rejoiced while others threw shit and rotten fruit at her and her son. But when Eirik walked ahead, they cheered him on as their savior and protector. He dragged Maven to the center of town, chained with her son Hemming. While there he sent several of the others to root out her children Sibbi and Ingun and bring them here.<p>

"People of Riften," he began, speaking to them all. "You of all the people of Skyrim know the capriciousness and apathy of those who rule over you in the name of the Empire: behold, Maven Black-Briar!" The crowds booed and threw more rotting food and excrement at her.

"The time has come," he said. "For us to be rid of the Black-Briars and the Thieves Guild. Earlier this morning we, the Sons of Skyrim, drove the Thieves Guild out of the Ratways like cattle. Now we have saved you from Maven Black-Briar."

Cries of "Kill her!" and "Kill them!" rose up from the crowd. Presently, Perla appeared from the north side of town, dragging behind her a young woman with raven-black hair and blue eyes filled with doubt. From the keep there was a shout and both Maldor and Jodis dragged forth the last Black-Briar, a scrawny, bald-headed man with fell eyes. He leered at Jodis, occasionally reaching out as if he would kiss her with his tongue, to which she punched him full on in the face. Once these two were brought before them, Eirik turned back to the people.

"Here they are," he said. "The house Black-Briar, this day, has fallen. Those who oppressed you are no more!"

"They ain't no more till they're dead!" one from the crowd shouted, which roused up the others with more cries of "Kill them!". Over and over they cried, chanted or screamed, until that was all that was ringing in Eirik's ears. He turned then to the Black-Briars. Sibbi was glaring at him with the same kind of hunger as a wolf would an elk, while Hemming was doubled over, weeping and covering his face from the rotten missiles of the crowd.

"Please, don't do this," Ingun said to Eirik. "We're not all your enemy!"

"What are you waiting for?" Maven mocked. "You hear the people. 'Kill them! Kill them!', they cry. You call yourselves the Sons of Skyrim? Well, that's what these people of Skyrim want, isn't it?"

"Mother, please!" Ingun returned. "I'm trying to save our lives!"

"Don't talk that way to me, you b*tch!" Maven retorted. "Do you think I haven't noticed your hand in this?" She turned back to Eirik. "Yes, kill us. Kill us! Let them see who their next king will be!"

"Don't do this!" Ingun said, turning to Eirik. "You see those gallows? Those scaffolds? My mother killed people here, towns people! People who did nothing more than be there for her to make an example of! Is that what you want to be?"

Ingun's words stung Eirik to the heart. Ever since he learned of Mjoll's disappearance, he had acted in a reckless manner that had been as one who sought death. Now he was pursuing death once again by fighting this war that still _needed_ to be fought. Maul did not need to die so bloodily, he only killed him to ease his own pride at being humiliated by him. Having Dirge watch his brother's execution was just salt in the wound, but it made Eirik realize that he was becoming something wholly different. Was he now indeed the curse of which Arngeir had warned him of when he slew Alduin?

With a shout, he breathed fire into the air above the people of Riften, and immediately all cries and shouts for the death of the Black-Briars were silenced.

"I am the Dragonborn," he said to them all. "And I am a son of Skyrim. We, the Sons of Skyrim, give you the people of Riften freedom from the Black-Briars. For this is just the beginning. But I will not be your Jarl: instead, the position of Jarl will be delivered to Vulwulf Snow-Shod, one who honors the fallen hero Ulfric Stormcloak and will serve the children of Skyrim before any Empire. _He_ will be your Jarl."

"And what of the Black-Briars?" someone shouted. The crowd began to rise up once again but Eirik spoke swiftly.

"They shall be driven out of Skyrim forever," Eirik said. "They will go without food, without coin, without horses, without escort. If they die, it will be the will of the Nine."

"You're a fool!" Maven said to Eirik. "I'll find a way to return to Riften. You are only delaying the inevitable!"

"She deserves to die!" cried one of the people in the crowd.

"We will not kill any Nords," Eirik said. "The world that the Sons of Skyrim will bring in will not be built on the blood of our brothers and kin. Let these be bound and dragged to the border of Cyrodiil by the swiftest riders...if any will dare to take them thus far."

Not all of the people of the town were very pleased at this arrangement, but the majority were more or less satisfied that the Black-Briars would be thrown out of Riften. The Sons of Skyrim and those of the people cheered, but for Eirik, there was great worry in his heart. He felt that he had set his feet down a path from which there could be no return. The Battle for Riften was over but for him, there was still yet one more battle, one more goal for him to achieve: finding Mjoll. He was not happy, but inside the knowledge that there was still some great need for him was comforting.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Thank you for that review<em>, Asahar4<em>. I noticed some other grammatical/syntax errors before and so went back and fixed them. As for all the things Eirik has accumulated, most of those were confiscated from Breezehome after it was turned over to Jarl Hrongar, or they are in a locked chest in the partially-finished basement of Lakeview Manor. That never really came up though, since vampires aren't that big of a concern and he wouldn't need Dawnbreaker very much. As for the Blades [and the Guardians of Skyrim], they are _definitely_ due for an appearance. So far I've tried to have anything that appears in my story have a purpose [except that cameo by the riekling])**

**(Also if it appears that the initial Sons of Skyrim don't ever suffer more than a few easily survivable wounds in the first two skirmishes, that is intentional. The reason i said that Delvin Mallory reminded Eirik of Crixus is because Delvin looks [and, to a degree, sounds] like Jason Statham, who, along with Sam Worthington and Ron "chin" Perlman, were inspiration for Crixus. Speaking of the Thieves Guild, dammit! I think I called Vex a "Nord" again! She's actually Imperial, but, surprisingly, looks like a Nord! Oh well, I've gone back and fixed most of it in this story.)**

**(There is also one other thing somewhat related to the story that I felt like bringing up. How long do you feel the Civil War has been going on in Skyrim? Due to the time-line of the Fourth Era, i feel that it couldn't have been going on for years and years, unless the Imperial Legion really are that incompetent or the people of Skyrim are generally on Ulfric's side [neither of which i believe].)**


	36. Too Soon

**(AN: Now, after that massive last chapter which set up some interesting story arcs for Eirik, I want something a bit smaller. Yes, it is once again cutting away to the villain, but part of me feels that I need to do this for the purpose of the narrative. While I won't go the way of Sam Raimi and have it that Thelgil's entire family had been murdered by Nords and therefore we should feel sorry for this ass-hole, I feel like he should have some narrative weight. Sauron works well as an element of fear precisely because we don't see him, but Thelgil is not Sauron and he doesn't have to be.)**

**(Also I heard some interesting thoughts on what the Thalmor are doing, and it's really just lame. Their excuse is that if they kill all of mankind and eradicate the worship of Talos, that will weaken his control over Mundus/the fabric of reality, allowing the Altmer to "unmake creation" and thereby return to Aetherius and be the god-beings that they feel they deserve to be. But this is literally them saying that Talos _is_ a god and therefore has that much power, but that brings up the question...well, if Talos is holding together the fabric of Mundus/preventing the Altmer from ascending to Aetherius, then why don't we have more documented proof of this happening before Tiber Septim was born?)**

* * *

><p><strong>Too Soon<strong>

Being under house arrest had certain advantages. One of them was that Elenwen was still permitted to have her servants attend on her, all of whom doubled as agents in and around Haafingar hold. Through them she gleaned a wealth of knowledge regarding the goings on around Skyrim during the past four months.

To say that the news angered her was an understatement. The apparent inaction of her Thalmor agents against the Empire's sweeping victory over the Stormcloaks in battle after battle was a great annoyance. Even more frustrating was the sudden appearance of the Dunmer's place in the execution of Ulfric Stormcloak. She had not entered them into her former calculations and if she had, they would have been watched carefully. In her mind, this was evidence of Thelgil's incompetence as High Justicar and acting ambassador.

To that end, she let her servants gather knowledge, hoping that Thelgil's agents would catch onto this and report it to him. She wanted him to find the trail of bread-crumbs leading back to her, and when he did...

"My lady!" a Bosmer man spoke up, disturbing Elenwen from her study.

"What is so important that you interrupt me?" she asked, rising from the chair in which she had been reading 'The Talos Mistake.'

"The High Justicar has arrived," he said. "He is at your door, and he wishes to speak to you."

Elenwen's scowl of disapproval and annoyance turned into a sly smile. "Let him in."

The tiny elf scurried like a skeever over to the door of her apartment. Elenwen looked upon her servant with thinly-veiled disgust. He was only a Bosmer, stunted, black-eyed, dark-skinned and ignorant. To him, a forest was the world: he could have gotten himself lost in Falkreath and die a happy mer. Elenwen inwardly despised such a small and narrow mind, but she said nothing regarding it, not yet at least. She was not as foolish as Ancarion, Ancano or, Auri-El forbid, Thelgil. The Alik'r, the Khajiit and the Bosmer were in her estimation naturally inferior, but they served the ultimate purpose of her people.

* * *

><p>The door was opened and in walked Thelgil. She was reminded once again why so many on Alinor revered him and saw him as a paragon of beauty. His eyes were the glistening yellow his people, narrow and small. The cheekbones were so exquisitely angular that he bore the likeness of an ancient Ayleid sculpture. The high-domed forehead foretold his high-born nature and when he spoke, his deep voice could change from hypnotic to commanding on the turn of a drake. Yes, Elenwen saw what was beautiful in him, but she was in <em>no<em> way enamored of him as all the women in Summerset, Cyrodiil and Hammerfell had been.

"I see that you've been playing me for a fool, Elenwen," he said, crossing the floor to tower before her at his seven feet height. "Did you think I am so busy with the snow-backs of Skyrim that I wouldn't notice your attempt at regaining influence?"

"Busy?" Elenwen asked. "Do you call that being busy? You've taken a situation that I had perfectly under control and you fucked it up!"

"My dear Elenwen, your language!" Thelgil chided condescendingly. "That is hardly befitting one so high-born as yourself, to say nothing of an Altmer. As I recall, however, you did not have the situation under such control as you say. Hadn't this Eirik Bjornsson sacked Northwatch Keep and defeated you at the peace summit?"

"At least _I_ didn't jeopardize our entire operation here," Elenwen retorted.

"What ever do you mean?" he asked, a smile of apparent ignorance crossing his face.

"I never sent our troops openly to the Reach," she began. "To help some half-elf thug in his petty war with the snow-backs. And I never sent our troops to help a deranged scale-back take a wife."

"You've heard of that, I see," said Thelgil, not in the least surprised or shocked at her revelation.

"Furthermore," she continued. "You let the Empire win! Now they will turn their eyes to Cyrodiil and see just how many of us there are in their own land."

"You give the Empire too much credit," said Thelgil, nodding to the book still in her hand. "Public sentiment towards our people in the Imperial City, which your father sacked and turned red with the blood of her people not but twenty-one years ago, is one of friendship and brotherhood. They want to welcome us into their Empire with peace and fraternity, thinking that we only want to have that pox Talos removed from the pantheon of the Divines." He smiled.

"And when they return to Cyrodiil," said Elenwen. "General Tullius will see that they are wrong. He's not an idiot, that one."

"Leave it to me, Elenwen," Thelgil returned, his voice soothing and hypnotic. "I have the situation firmly under control."

"Why should I trust an overzealous daedra worshiper?" Elenwen asked. "Yes, I know full well about you and what you do in your chambers in the Blue Palace. Of all mer-kind in the Aldmeri Dominion, you are the most zealous in your endeavors. Do you not think that would be a sign to our enemies that we are up to something?"

There was a lengthy pause, during which Thelgil gazed about the room, then landed his eyes back onto Elenwen.

"I have spies and agents also," he began. "And they have learned much about the situation in Skyrim. The half-mer Reachmen, the Forsworn, were a means to an end. They wanted their land back and I gave it to them, under no obligation to allow them to keep it once they have outlived their use. As for the Argonian..." He chuckled.

"What's so amusing?" Elenwen asked.

"Auri-El has blessed my mission," he said. "Of all the simple-minded, easily-manipulated snow-back mongrels in this filthy country, Eirik Bjornsson is the greatest boon to my task. He has succeeded in dividing Skyrim for us by his own hand. Or have your spies not informed you of the fall of Falkreath and the Rift within two weeks of each other?"

"I was informed of him," she said. "Truly, I've been keeping an eye on him since he walked into this embassy Last Seed. I am also aware of the danger that he poses to our operation."

"What danger?" asked Thelgil. "I have let the Argonian take Eirik's b*tch, which shall keep him busy and out of our affairs for a good long while."

"What language, High Justicar!" Elenwen exclaimed exaggeratedly.

"There is no sufficient word," Thelgil said. "In High Altmeri or the Common Tongue to describe these filthy, abnormal, un-womanly brutes they call females!"

"Be that as it may," Elenwen retorted. "What you have planned will not work. Skyrim is neither Valenwood, Elsweyr nor Hammerfell. They will not..."

"They will have no choice," he interjected. "Thanks to the Dragonborn, there is no way the Imperial Navy, what is left of it anyhow, will be able to stop us. Arannelya informs me that her contacts within the Alik'r have blockaded Anvil, keeping the Western Navy from mobilizing. Any attack made by sea would have to come from Bravil, which would be of no effect due to the many leagues lying between Bravil and Solitude. No help will come from the Imperial City, not while Eirik Bjornsson controls Falkreath and the Rift and now, thanks to Arannelya, the Empire has more pressing concerns along their north-western borders to worry themselves about a quelled rebellion." He turned to Elenwen, a smile on his lips.

"Do you see now, Elenwen?" he asked. "I have everything exactly where they need to be."

"You will pardon me, of course," she returned. "If I do not immediately shower you with congratulations."

"You _will_, Elenwen, soon," he said. "Very soon. We will finally achieve our goal."

"But what about the rumors?" Elenwen asked. "My spies have reported that the Dark Brotherhood might have survived our little purge, and I saw with my own two eyes Esbern of the Blades at the peace summit. Now we hear that the Blades are reforming and searching for..."

"They will never find him," said Thelgil in return. "Even if the Akaviri rise up from the ashes of ages past and invade Tamriel once again, they will not stop us. The Dragonborn has given victory into the hands of the Aldmeri Dominion...into _my_ hands. I intend to take it now while the iron is hot. I promise you, Elenwen, before this year is out, the Empire will fall."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I only gave that hint of what the Thalmor are up to because i don't want the whole story to be revealed until the end but still wanted some stakes to be known. For now we have enough to go on that Eirik's actions with the Sons of Skyrim might not have entirely been for the good of Skyrim as well as the idea that both he and the Penitus Oculatus are being used by the Thalmor to do their bidding ["our little purge" of course refers to the Dark Brotherhood quest-line])<strong>

**(Also, like with _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, I'm setting up things for _The Dragon of the South_. Arannelya was the Dominion leader of the forces in Hammerfell in the lore of the game, against whom one of our previously revealed [and soon to be returning] characters has a massive grudge. And yes, I've even dropped you all a line about what _will_ happen in this story in the story itself. The Blades are making a comeback and they won't be able to hide from the eyes of the Thalmor for long.)  
><strong>


	37. The Threat

**(AN: Lol, sometimes you have to do some research to uncover some things about what happens in your story, and if those tags ever got out, people would probably think i was weird. But I needed to know of a certain point at which this would be a problem for her, because while Danica Pure-Spring might have had some magical way of telling Mjoll that she's pregnant, someone who was not in the know at that point [meaning people other than Mjoll, Danica, Eirik and Lydia] would have to have visual cues. So far we've had a few other cues, but nothing really substantial. Now it gets real.)  
><strong>

**(Okay, i want to ask you, dear readers, a question for which i want everyone who is reading to give me their most honest answer: do you care about what happens with Eirik, Lydia and Mjoll in the story? I feel that despite all that i've put Eirik through so far and despite the two of them being torn apart and going through quite a bit, my audience doesn't really care. And if they don't care, then why should i?)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Threat<strong>

Mjoll tried to remember how long it had been since she was captured. Lucia had told her that Tarvis had taken her off the streets of Whiterun on Tirdas, the tenth day of First Seed and that they had only slept along the way for one night. This meant that she had met her some time on the eleventh or twelfth of First Seed. Thinking back as far as she could, she recalled that it had been the twenty-fifth day of Morning Star, a dreary Sundas morning whose previous night had been wracked by nightmares, when she parted ways with Eirik. From this she determined that she had been imprisoned for almost three months.

She now began to fear for the safety of her unborn child. Lucia was the first one to know, after Mjoll had complained about her armor being too tight and asked for her to help loosen it. To help Mjoll, whom she now always called 'mama', keep her secret hidden, she had asked Tarvis, who, despite what Mjoll said, she still called 'papa', for a blanket for the two of them to rest under. The caverns were, after all, very drafty and sometimes after long talks or a meal together, they would fall asleep in each other's arms. Tarvis complied and now Mjoll was able to hide for a while under the blanket, lying on her side to keep her swelling stomach hidden.

It so happened one afternoon that Mjoll and Lucia were together again in the cave chamber. Mjoll was lying on her side while Lucia talked about a run-in her friend Brenuin had with the Whiterun guards. While the little girl found the situation all very humorous, it bothered Mjoll.

"I can't believe," she said. "Such a nice girl could end up with such a dishonest man."

"What do you mean?" Lucia asked.

"Well, from what you told me," Mjoll continued. "All he did was beg for money or steal it and then drink himself into forgetfulness. Who would even _want_ a life like that?"

"Sometimes I wish I could forget," Lucia said sorrowfully. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"No, dear Lucia," Mjoll returned, with a hopeful smile. "Sometimes I wish I could forget the day my brother Mani died. That does not make you a bad person."

"But I knew Brenuin," said Lucia.

"That doesn't make you a bad person, child," Mjoll said. "That just means that you've had an unfortunate life. But that's all going to change."

"When you get out of here," Lucia said.

"Yes," Mjoll nodded. "And I'll take you with me to the house that we're building. A nice big house by Lake Ilinalta, with big forests to go hunting in. And I'll teach both how to be strong."

"And papa will be there?" Lucia asked hopefully.

Mjoll, however, did not answer immediately. She did not have an immediate answer for her. So far little Lucia had been helping Mjoll because she had been nice to her and that she was now her new mother. But she was still seeing Tarvis as her father since he had adopted her. She wondered if, when she escaped, she would ever forgive her or if she would ever come to accept Eirik as her new father?

At that moment, while she was thinking up of something to say, there were heard voices and footsteps coming down the tunnel leading into their room. Mjoll instinctively turned to see who it was, then turned back as she realized her condition and instead laid back down. Lucia meanwhile got up when she saw Tarvis walking into the room. She ran towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist as she was still small. He laughed and patted her on the head.

"There's my precious girl," he said, kneeling down to come eye to eye with Lucia. "How have you been? Have you and mommy been getting on?"

"Mhm," she returned, nodding vigorously.

"I love hearing that," Tarvis returned with a smile. "But now it's time for us to leave. We've got to move to another place."

"Will it be above ground?" Lucia asked.

"I'm afraid not," Tarvis shook his head, then planted a kiss on the top of her head, stood up and turned to Mjoll.

"We're leaving shortly, love," he said. "I'll send some people in to bring you to the carts."

"No!" Lucia suddenly spoke up. "She's very sick. I'll help her get to the cart."

"That's very considerate of you, Lucia," Tarvis said. "But let daddy take mommy to the cart."

"No, she's _really_ weak," Lucia returned. "She hasn't been feeling very well, not had enough to eat, I think."

"Why is that?" asked Tarvis, a worried concern in his yellow eyes. He then walked over and knelt down besides Mjoll, who tried to scoot away from him as best she could.

"Don't be afraid, my love," he said in an assuring tone. "I'm quite skilled in healing magic as well as alchemy and potion-brewing. Whatever I can do to help you, I will most certainly do it."

"No," Mjoll said, trying to scoot away. Tarvis placed his hand on her forehead, which caused her to shiver slightly.

"Hmm, you're a little warm, but not warm enough for a fever," he said. "Perhaps if you removed this blanket..."

"No!" Mjoll returned. "I need the blanket. It's cold in here."

"But you won't need the blanket out tonight," he said. "It's a warm spring afternoon. There won't be any need for blankets until we stop tonight, and I'll give you a blanket then."

"Just let me have it," Mjoll returned.

Tarvis chuckled. "What is so important? It's just a blanket!"

"Please don't argue in front of Lucia," Mjoll said. "Just let me have the blanket."

But Mjoll had no means of keeping the blanket over herself, since her hands were still bound with a knot so tight and complicated that Lucia couldn't untie them, even after Mjoll had gained her trust. She watched in horror as Tarvis reached over and removed the blanket, then felt the change in his eyes as he saw her loosened breast-plate and her swollen stomach.

"By the Hist!" he exclaimed, then turned swiftly to Lucia. "Darling, would you please give mommy and daddy some time alone? Go out into the main room with the others. They won't hurt you."

Lucia shook her head.

"Daddy says go," he said, his voice firm but still gentle.

"But what about Mo'Raj?" she asked.

"I've sent him on an errand," said Tarvis. "He won't be there. Now, please, go."

"Will mama be alright?" Lucia asked.

"Yes, she'll be just fine," he returned. "Now go outside and wait for me, darling."

Lucia turned to Mjoll, who nodded at her, then walked out of the room. She did not go far, for she was still curious about hearing what would happen between mama and papa. She was not wholly as innocent as her round face and button nose: she had spent several years with Brenuin on the streets of Whiterun and once followed him into the Bannered Mare and saw the bard Mikael and the large warrior woman Uthgerd get into a fist fight over what Brenuin had calling "grabbing what wasn't his." Hiding against the wall of the cave tunnel, just outside of sight, she listened to what happened next.

* * *

><p>"When were you going to tell me this, love?" papa asked, but his voice was not sweet but serious and worry-stricken, as though he was very sad or fearful. Mama made no response. "Whose child is this? Is this his, that snow-back monster who stole you from me?"<p>

"He is my husband," Mama finally said.

"_I_ am your husband!" said papa, anger in his voice. "Damn that brute for what he has done to you! Oh, if only I had rescued you sooner, before he defiled you so..."

"No one in all of Tamriel," said Mama, anger in her voice. "Man, mer, Khajiit or Argonian, could _ever_ defile me! I _chose_ to have his child."

"Under _his_ spell, no less!" papa retorted. "I will not stand for this! You are my love and he will surely _die_ for this wicked deed! He's corrupted you with his foul seed and now..." He paused.

"Yes?" asked Mama. "Now what?"

There was dead silence, after which papa finally spoke.

"I will await until the time appointed," he said. "Eight willing, the child is stillborn. If it lives, I will kill it."

"How dare you threaten my child!"

"Lucia is your child!"

"They are _both_ my children!" Mama said. "And if you really loved me, you wouldn't threaten _my_ child, which I chose to bear of my own free will!"

There was only silence in the room beyond when suddenly Lucia felt a leathery hand clasp around her mouth. In the dark there was a gleam of red eyes and a voice shushing her softly. Lucia knew exactly who those eyes and that hand belonged to and it filled her with dread.

"I promise," she heard papa say at last. "I will not rest until I have removed that cruel man's seed of rape from your pure body. I'll be back for you shortly."

Mama did not respond, but Lucia did not like the sound of what papa was saying. After the incident in the Bannered Mare with Mikael and Uthgerd, Brenuin told her that when little girls grew up, boys stopped teasing them and started acting strange around them. Some boys, he had said, were not nice about it and forced themselves on girls. Had this strange, faceless evil one done just that to Mama?

Just then papa appeared through the tunnel, looked at Mo'Raj for a moment, then departed into the depths of the cave. Mo'Raj gave her a shove and went on his way, leaving her to look after papa with a look of sorrow. He had told her that Mo'Raj wouldn't be around and yet he was. Why did papa lie to her?

"Lucia?" she heard Mama's voice call out to her. "Are you there? Please come here."

Sheepishly, she walked out from where she was hiding and back into the cave room. Mama seemed to be unhurt, but she, Lucia, could still hear their raised voices ringing in her ears long after they had halted. Why were they so angry at each other? Was it because of Mama's secret? As she walked close to Mama, she saw that there was sadness in her eyes. She knew it because she had seen the same sadness in her own eyes, reflected in the waters of the canals around the Gildergleam in the Plains District of Whiterun.

"What's wrong, Mama?" she asked, kneeling down at Mama's side.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," said Mama.

"Did papa say something to hurt you?" Lucia asked.

Mama nodded. "He threatened to hurt my child."

"I won't let him do it," Lucia said defensively. This made Mama smile.

"Thank you, Lucia," she said. "I know that one day you'll be very strong yourself."

"I wanna be strong, Mama," Lucia said. "Strong like you, so I can protect you and your baby."

Mama smiled. "And you will be. Now come here. If something happens to us when we leave this place, I want you to remember that I will find you and bring you home. That is a promise and I always keep my promises."

"Is something bad gonna happen?" Lucia asked.

Mama shook her head. "No, my dear. Nothing will happen. I still have a plan, and even as I am now, I might yet be able to carry it out." Just then, Lucia saw mama pause for a moment and look down at her stomach.

"What's wrong, Mama?" she asked again.

Mama shook her head, but there was a smile on her face. "Come over here. Put your hand on my stomach."

At first she looked at Mama, who then nodded, a smile on her face. With her little right hand, Lucia slid between the heavy carved steel plate of the breast-plate and touched the warm leather jerkin. Suddenly she felt something move just beneath the leather shirt: it was so small she felt as though its head was little bigger than her hand. She gasped with surprise and then giggled as she felt it move just beneath the shirt. She saw that Mama was beaming.

"Do you feel that?" Mama asked.

"Yes!" Lucia squealed happily. "It's so strange. How does it feel? Does it hurt?"

"Not very much," Mama replied. "It fills my heart with joy. I just wish..." At this Mama stopped and her smile faded.

"What?" Lucia asked. "What do you wish, Mama?"

"I wish that Eirik could be here," Mama said, her voice twinged with sorrow.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I know this scene might be a bit too sentimental for such a story, but i got tired with fight and sex scenes, so i tried my hand at something that would show Mjoll's softer, caring side, which i feel is still canon since she's that way in the game, even towards the complete strangerspeople of Riften.)**

**(Lots of interesting stuff, like the sudden switch in perspective, etc. Don't forget to review)**


	38. The Dragon and the Bear

**(AN: This chapter took a long while to get out, but i felt like i was finally getting somewhere. Like with _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, this chapter was inspired by awesome metal songs [_**Týr**_'s "The Lay of Thrym" and _Dio_'s "Holy Diver" for this chapter specifically]. Aside from that, we see the promised reintroduction of two characters and a little bit of "house-keeping" for the Sons of Skyrim, inspired by _Crusader Kings_ and the usual need for any political movement therein to have a cabinet of councilors.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The Dragon and the Bear<strong>

Ruling the Rift was a much more difficult task than Eirik had initially guessed. Vulwulf Snow-Shod was no Jarl and therefore Anuriel, the Bosmer steward who had strangely been absent during the battle, was appointed as his steward. Despite this, Eirik had to take care of most of the day-to-day workings the city. Repairing the gate as well as paying alms to those hurt the worst by the Black-Briars, getting businesses running again and visiting those whose loved ones had been executed at Maven Black-Briar's orders, was taxing.

There was, however, one great boon to this new development: Eirik did not have to manage Riften alone. The city guards gladly accepted their old jobs once again and Eirik oversaw the swearing of their new oaths of fealty. Now that the Thieves Guild was gone, they could be hardened and disciplined into a fit fighting force that could defend the hold at a moment's notice.

One night in the middle of Rain's Hand, after the spring rains had done their daily job turning the trees of the Rift green and vibrant, a great host appeared outside the northern gates of Riften. Being the _de facto_ marshal of Riften, Eirik made his way to the gates and saw dozens of people, many of them bearing torches to fight off the cold and dark.

"Whom do you seek at this hour?" Eirik said to the people.

"With your leave, sir," one of the people said. "We've come seeking the Dragonborn. We're here to join the Sons of Skyrim. We've heard about how he took Falkreath and Riften without losing a single man. If anyone has the right of protecting our land, it's you!"

All those before him cried out in affirmation. For a moment, Eirik could not contain himself. Ever since his return, there had been little to no respect among the people of the holds, and only now they were showing him any kind of respect or even admiration.

"Enter in, children of Skyrim," he said. "For I am Eirik the Dragonborn and all sons of Skyrim are welcome here!"

At least two hundred men and women of the outlying holds had gathered here in this group, eager to join the Sons of Skyrim. Eirik, however, was amazed at how large they had grown. Once again it dawned upon him the overwhelming weight of the task at hand. He would have to rule all of them practically single-handed as well as act as marshal for the people of the Rift. It felt sometimes as though he was giving more to the people of Skyrim than he was capable of giving.

As the people returned to the outside to camp or made their way to the Bee and Barb to look for warm beds, Eirik was making his way past the large house in the city that had once belonged to Maven Black-Briar. As he was passing the door, there was a sudden creak and Eirik felt strong hands shove him into the darkness of the room. The door was then shut fast behind them.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Did I hurt you?" a familiar voice asked. "Sorry, but I had to speak to you fast and this was the first time you were alone. Ancestors of old, you don't stand still long these days!"

A candle was lit and Eirik saw once again a face that he had not seen since Dawnstar, glowing white in the glow of the candle.

"Serana?" he asked. "By the White! What are you doing here?"

"In this place?" she asked. "Not really sure. It stinks of mead, fear and fish, and even worse since, well, you know. I mean, even any normal nobleman's daughter wouldn't want to walk the streets of this town with all this foul smells, but for a vampire, it's a hundred times worse!"

"Is that why you dragged me into a deserted house?" Eirik asked. "To complain about the smell of the city?"

Serana chuckled. "It's nice to see you too. But I actually do have a message. I've been tracking you since Falkreath, trying to find a moment where I could give you this message. No one saw me, except perhaps those scouts of yours. That girl who calls herself Ulli has some keen eyes and ears, almost like one of my kind."

"How do you know her name?"

"Are you kidding?" Serana asked. "I listen to practically everything you people say on your way from Falkreath to Riften. You weren't exactly being quiet about it, you know."

"We were in the woods," Eirik said. "There wasn't anyone else about!"

"Except me," she added. "But I'm on your side, for now. As it turns out, I know quite a bit about what you've been up to with this little rebellion and all. Maybe now that you have the south, you can take back Ysgramor's city from those dark elves?"

"Maybe," Eirik said. "So what was the message you wanted to deliver?"

Serana cleared her throat. "Crixus said that he's coming to see you again. He said that he finally was able to get away and is on his way towards you. He said that if all went well, he would find you before Midyear."

"Oh, is that a fact?" Eirik asked. "Well, you can tell Crixus that if he ever shows himself before me, it will be the last thing he does."

"I'm not going back, not yet at least," Serana said.

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Because you need help," she said. "I overheard what your huscarl and you were talking about and I agree with her. You need advisers. I mean, by the White, even my father had advisers at the castle. Most of them were just toadying sycophants, but your huscarl is right: you need someone to help you."

Eirik nodded. "Come with me."

* * *

><p>Eirik led Serana to Mistveil Keep, where Vulwulf, his wife Nura, Lydia and the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim, as the twenty-two first members, including Eirik, were being called by the newcomers, were feasting to their victories and to many victories to come. Serana threw her hood on as she walked inside and sat down on a chair away near the door leading to the court wizard's chambers. Eirik sat down next to Lydia while a servant brought him food and drink. With the cup in his hand, he rose up.<p>

"Sons and daughters of Skyrim," he said. "Our army grows in size. Tonight we welcome two hundred souls into our ranks." There were cheers and fists pounding upon the table and shouts of "For Skyrim!" raised up from the table.

"When we left Windhelm almost two months ago," Eirik continued. "I did not believe that we would one day be on our way to a true army. As it is now that we are an army, we must be organized as such. As your chief captain, I must now appoint captains from among you to serve the people in my stead and to help our cause grow and prosper. I will need to appoint four new positions: one is the title of Hand of the Captain. Second is the title of Marshal. Third is the title of Steward and the last will be a priest who will keep alive among us the worship of Talos, whose blood is the blood of this land and whose might is the might of our people."

Once more there were cheers lifted up as well as goblets and tankards and fists pounded on the ground.

"The Hand of the Captain," Eirik began. "Will be my second. If I am away or infirm, he or she will act in my stead and lead with my authority. He or she must also be fair and even-tempered, one whose mind and heart are for the people of Skyrim. For in matters of diplomacy, we must be as strong as in matters of warfare. Who will accept this position?"

Galmar rose from his seat. "We don't need no diplomacy! We saw how well that worked out for the people of Skyrim after the peace summit at High Hrothgar." Several other voices grumbled, but then old Angrim slowly rose to his feet.

"I will accept," he said. "Though my wish is to die in battle, I will serve you as Hand of the Captain, Dragonborn. It would be my honor."

"The Marshal," Eirik continued. "Will be our commander of warfare. He will oversee the training and recruitment of troops." But while Eirik was still speaking, Lalla, Svenn and Ralof rose up as one.

"Who among us," Lalla asked. "Would serve better as Marshal than Galmar?"

"He has already proven himself to us," Ralof said. "As a competent military commander. There is no other option."

"I agree," Eirik said. "So Galmar Stone-Fist shall be our Marshal. Our steward must be one who has keen knowledge of the means of warfare and running holds. Our goal is to save Skyrim from the Empire and their servants, but if we cannot run well those who we have liberated, we have no purpose being here at all."

"If I may speak on one's behalf," Perla spoke up. "I would say that Dynthor, who was once a quartermaster of the Stormcloaks, would be a good choice to serve as steward for the Sons of Skyrim." Again all voices were lifted up in affirmation.

"Then it shall be so," Eirik continued. "Lastly we need a chief priest, one who serves the Hero-King, who is our champion and our right..."

"If I may speak," Vulwulf added, rising from his chair. "It pleases me to know that there are still men and women in Skyrim who will not submit to the will of the Empire. Every one of you honor Talos and the memory of Ulfric Stormcloak with your efforts. Therefore, as Jarl of Riften and as a true Nord and former supporter of Ulfric Stormcloak, I offer my wife Nura Snow-Shod to serve as your chief priest of Talos. She has already served the people as priest of Talos in this city, despite the Imperial ban, and I would be honored to have my wife serve in such great company."

"Did you not also say that you lost both your son and your daughter?" Eirik asked. "I cannot ask you to lose your wife as well."

"Nonsense," Nura, a middle-aged Nord woman in the orange robes of a priest, rose from the table. "The Snow-Shods have always served the people of Skyrim: Lilija was honored to serve the Stormcloaks, and I would be honored to serve you, Dragonborn."

Eirik smiled. "Then it is set. Let us now drink to our beloved land and to our future! To Skyrim!"

"To Skyrim!"

They all drained their tankards, while Eirik silently watched over those assembled here. So far they had come very far and had won two victories. It was a good start by any account, but he wondered what would happen when they marched northward, towards Windhelm. That would be the next goal, taking back Ysgramor's city. But that would take a long time to prepare and more than only two hundred men. They would have to find craftsmen skilled in the art of siege warfare to build weapons for the assault.

He slouched down into his chair, wondering where the Companions were, if they had any news of Mjoll's whereabouts or if they had abandoned him all together and returned to Whiterun.

* * *

><p>Two weeks had passed since Serana had arrived at Riften and there was no sign or rumor of Crixus anywhere in the Rift. From Ivarstead and the rebuilt fortifications at Nimalten to Shor's Stone and as far east as Fort Dawnguard, no one matching his description was seen anywhere in the Rift. It was still very early, for one day more and then the month of Second Seed, the last month of spring, was soon to be upon them. Only when Midyear came, the month proceeding Second Seed but before Midsummer's Day, could Eirik truly be expecting Crixus. But he knew better than to believe that Crixus would give him a date of his arrival and then honor it: he would be watchful always, in case he tried to attack him in secret.<p>

At the end of of those two weeks, the Companions returned to Riften, bearing ill news. None of them had seen any sign or heard tell of any news regarding Mjoll the Lioness. There were rumors in some of the northern holds of a large band of brigands, thieves and bandits crossing the snows. They rarely attacked any villages and where they stayed no one knew, for they never saw them settle down at a fort or bandit camp.

"They say," Aela said. "That those who have seen them while they were about saw a woman and a young girl in a caged cart among them. Rather strange, don't you think?"

"Have you been able to catch them?" Eirik asked.

"No," said Vilkas. "Whoever is in charge of them seems to always be one step ahead of us."

"It's damn frustrating!" Farkas growled.

"We've also sent word," Vilkas added. "To whoever was interested in joining the Companions should make for Riften. It's a good thing you finally returned when you did."

"I will see to them at once," Eirik said. "But now I must ask you, please, that you go out again and search for her. Only now, in your searching, ask in the towns concerning an Argonian going by the name of Tarvis."

"I remember him," Aela said. "He used to frequent the Bannered Mare. Almost thought of offering to let him join the Companions, only, well, he's a mage. We don't let mages into the Companions, as I'm sure you remember from what Skjor told you when you first arrived."

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "If you can find any news of his whereabouts, it would go a long way to finding Mjoll."

"Of course we will do this," said Vilkas. "We are brothers of the shield, it is our duty."

The Companions stayed the night in Riften, and then on the fifteenth day after Serana's appearance, they departed once more into the wild. Once again Eirik begrudged the many burdens upon his shoulders and, with the departure of the Companions, he felt the absence of Mjoll all the more.

The day wore on bleak and wet with rain, and Eirik was glad to finally fall asleep in his bed in Mistveil Keep. The next day, the first day of Second Seed, dawned cloudless and bright, with the sun shining brightly down from up above. Eirik could not enjoy the sun and the warm air, however, for he was kept inside with much work to do for the Sons of Skyrim as well as for the Companions. Nine new members joined the Companions while a request for more materials for Nimalten's defenses had to be signed.

When night finally came, Eirik could not sleep. He thought over what had happened over the last two and a half months since Mjoll had disappeared. It became clear now why he went to Windhelm instead of searching every nook and cranny of the Pale for Mjoll: he wanted to have a purpose. When the dragons were a threat throughout Skyrim, he told himself and others that the burden of being Dragonborn was great, but inside he enjoyed it. He had a purpose, a reason to live and a reason for his battles, and it made him feel happy and invincible.

But now Alduin was gone, Harkon Volkihar and Miraak were dead, and, especially after Alduin's defeat, Eirik began to feel that he had outlived his purpose. Was it therefore despair that caused him to shy away from what appeared to be a fruitless endeavor of searching every cave and bandit-hole throughout the Pale for Mjoll, or was it the desire to be wanted, to have a purpose? Either way, it was a betrayal and it made Eirik feel rotten inside.

He had made excuses as to why he hadn't gone that way before; the Sons of Skyrim would have been killed by the Dunmer if he had done nothing. But then he replied that they were just people and Mjoll was everything to him. Then again he felt ashamed for thinking this: were his desires really more important than the plight of the people of Skyrim? Now in truth he felt himself as though he were in a harem being torn apart by four mistresses: his own desires, the needs of the Sons of Skyrim, the needs of the Companions and the needs of the world in which he lived. All of them wanted him, all of him, and would not be satisfied until they had it all.

* * *

><p>How long he continued to debate himself and to consider what might have been until he finally fell asleep was beyond him. When he awoke, however, he heard Lydia's voice and felt a hand nudge him on the shoulder. He rose up, wiping sleep out of his eyes and turned to his huscarl.<p>

"We have a problem, my thane," she said. "There's a man out front of the gates of Riften. He wants you to come out and speak with him."

"Really?" Eirik asked. "There have been quite a few men of that sort coming here to have an audience with me. What does he look like?"

"You should really come and see, my thane," Lydia returned.

Eirik slowly rose, washed his face in the basin on the table near his bed, then threw on his shirt and followed Lydia outside of the keep. It was a strangely cloudy day that bespoke of rain and the wind was in the north and cold. He had not passed the courtyard gate when he heard a voice cry out in a loud voice: "Eirik!" He halted upon hearing the voice, strong and commanding, calling out for him.

"Lydia," he said. "Bring me my long-sword. I feel I might need it."

Lydia sighed, then turned around and went back to the keep, muttering as she left: "I'm sworn to carry your burdens!"

By the time Eirik reached the market-square, he heard the voice cry out once again. Swiftly he ran to the stone northern wall of Riften and, climbing up onto the parapet, looked out to see who it was who was calling for him. As he gained the top, he finally saw who it was who was calling him. Standing outside the walls of Riften was a knight, straight out of one of the tales of the Third Era, when Imperial soldiers wore full body armor and the knightly orders of Cyrodiil were famed throughout all of Tamriel.

The knight was clad head to toe in Third Era steel plate armor, with a helmet that hid his face. His tabard was black and bore in red upon it the Red Diamond, the dragon emblem of the Empire of Cyrodiil. The knight was on foot, and nearby was his horse, unarmored and hitched up to a cart with a leather covering over it. Hanging upon the side of the cart was an Imperial kite shield and a short sword, and impaled in the ground between cart and knight was a broad-sword equal in size to Eirik's Skaal great-sword, though the design was clearly Third Era Colovian and not as ornate.

"You've found me!" Eirik shouted down to the knight. "I am Eirik the Dragonborn. Why have you come to Riften?"

"Ah, my old friend!" the knight spoke. His voice was muffled underneath the helmet and he breathed heavily after each sentence, but the accent was very familiar. "I've heard quite a bit about you. And I've come to visit you as I said I would, to see what a mess you had made of Riften now that the Thieves Guild and the Black-Briars have been driven out."

"Who are you?" Eirik asked.

"Have you not guessed?" the knight asked. "Of course not, your small Nordic mind is incapable of such a logical assumption. I am Servius Crixus, your old friend and comrade."

Eirik's blood boiled as he heard the name spoken. Any other thought was driven out of his mind, except that he now had his enemy in the palm of his hand. He would finally be rid of Crixus once and for all. The walls of Riften were lined with archers, some of the newest members of the Sons of Skyrim who had training with the bow. At a single command, they could unleash arrows from bows with enough strength to find the separations of his armor plates. But that was too easy a death for the likes of him.

"Will you let me in," asked the knight. "Or shall I wait for you to come down?"

"I am _not_ your friend nor your comrade, you Colovian bastard," Eirik returned. "You've betrayed me for the last time."

"I think you mean handing you over to the Empire at Dawnstar," said the knight. "An unfortunate mistake, but, knowing your temper, I came prepared in case you tried anything." The knight pounded his metal-clad fist against his tabard, beneath which was a steel breast-plate. "If you will allow me to explain..."

"There will be no explanations, not this time," Eirik said. "You won't worm your way out of paying what you owe me: your life."

There was a pause, after which the knight spoke. "If you wish to kill me, then why not get it over with? Command your servants to fill me full of arrows, if any can pierce my armor."

"I will personally kill you myself," Eirik said. "Not with the Voice, but with my own strength."

Eirik walked back down the stairs as Lydia approached, bearing Eirik's sword. He told her to bring his armor, to which she grumbled but once again complied. Seeing that Eirik had departed, the knight once again began crying out his name. Eirik tried not to pay attention as he waited for Lydia to bring him his armor. When she finally arrived, she gave him a hand gearing himself up as he told her about what he was about to do.

"That's Crixus?" Lydia asked. "He sounds nothing like him! Besides, I've never known Crixus to be so...so..."

"So what?" Eirik asked.

"Well," she returned. "He's usually a little more subtle than walking out in ridiculous Third Era armor."

"Not in his speech," Eirik added.

"Still," Lydia replied. "I think you should talk to him first. I don't think that's Crixus."

"Why would anyone want to pretend to be Crixus?" Eirik asked. "He's the scourge of Skyrim."

"Then ask him why!" Lydia said. "Maybe he knows something about Crixus, maybe..."

"The time for talk is done," Eirik said as he took his great-sword. "Open the gates!"

The gates were opened and Eirik charged towards the knight, great-sword in hand. Unlike the little Colovian who had only ever worn modern Imperial armor and leather ranger's clothes, Eirik was a mighty Nord who had felled trees in his youth and dragons in his manhood. He could run in steel armor. The knight reached for his kite shield and short sword asn Eirik swung the great-sword across to take off the head with one blow. The knight held up the shield in place, fending off the blow but sending him stumbling backwards from the sheer strength of Eirik's blow and the weight of the knight's armor.

Again Eirik swung across, and again the shield went up. The blow was deflected, but the shield arm was knocked aside, opening up the knight to thrusting blows. In a desperate retaliation, the knight held up his sword across as much as his armor and coat of mail underneath would allow: the vertical slash was parried, but Eirik saw that the knight was unfamiliar in his gear.

But just in that moment, the shield struck Eirik backward, sending him stumbling back as the knight strode forward to the attack. Eirik, being faster, rolled aside as the knight approached. Back on his feet, Eirik swung his great-sword about twice to gain momentum, then strode forward with a mighty swing at the knight's neck once again. The shield went up, but this time the blow was so strong that it hacked the kite shield apart. Without protection, the knight held up his sword to fend off the next blow, but he swiftly learned that he could not hold it up to defend himself as fast as his opponent could swing.

Throwing aside the short sword, the knight strode slowly over to where he had placed the broad-sword and drew it out. While this was indeed a weapon to match the great-swords of Skyrim, Eirik saw that the knight was as inexperienced with a broad-sword as he was with armor. This time the knight swung, but Eirik had fought too many battles and his opponent moved too slowly for him to be caught off-guard. First blow was guarded, then the next, then the third blow. But as the knight swung for the fourth blow, Eirik stepped aside, causing him to swing wide and leave himself open. Like a charging bull, Eirik threw himself into the knight, who, being already very heavy and cumbersome, fell onto the ground.

Angrily, Eirik aimed a kick at the downed knight, but it struck metal and his toe hurt inside his boot. This only roused his fury even more as he reached to tear off the helmet and beat Crixus' face into a bloody pulp with his own two hands. It was with shock that, tearing off the helmet, he saw a young man, not even bearded, lying before him, covered in sweat and red-faced from the heat of his armor. For a moment Eirik was aghast that he was about to kill a seemingly innocent young knight, too young even for knighthood...

Then suddenly a black-feathered arrow struck the ground right next to the knight's head. From the angle of the shaft, it had come from Riften, not away from it. Turning around, Eirik saw, standing upon the roof of the Bunkhouse, whose roof was tall enough to over-span the wall, a figure clad in black ranger garb. In his hands was a black bow that was bent, an arrow upon the string.

"Just like you Nords," called the newcomer. "Killing innocent boys to satisfy your self-righteous sense of vengeance."

"Shor's balls, Crixus, what is this?" Eirik roared at the black-clad Crixus standing upon the roof. "This is a new low, even for you. Sending a boy dressed up in armor pretend to be you?"

"I figured," Crixus said. "After what happened at Dawnstar, or should I say Solitude, you wouldn't be in the most receptive mood."

"And for that you risk his life?" Eirik fumed. "Let an innocent lad die for you? You will surely die for this! Now get down here, so I can send you to Oblivion!"

"Doesn't give me much incentive to come down, does it?" laughed Crixus.

The other arrow flew down, striking the ground two feet away from Eirik's foot. As Eirik made his way back to the gate, another arrow was fitted into Crixus' bow, this one aimed at his head.

"You know how deadly I am with a bow," Crixus said. "I don't want to fight you right now. We have to talk..."

"The time for talk is done, ass-hole!" Eirik shouted. "If you won't come down to me, I'm coming up to get you! Open the gates!"

With that, Eirik ran towards the gates as they opened, then made his way up the stairs to the top of the wall. He did not see any way by which Crixus could have reached the roof, but he did see a black-clad figure shoot an arrow towards the houses on the east side of town, tie a rope to it and then swing along with his bow to the other side. Eirik ran thither, but saw that there was no way from the wall onto the walk-ways of the third level of the Riften houses. He saw Crixus was now on the platform and had turned to Eirik.

"Listen, I know it's difficult for you, as a Nord," he began. "To think, but you have to right now!"

"Give me another reason to mount your head from the gates of Mistveil Keep," Eirik returned. "I dare you!"

"Just fucking listen to me!" Crixus shouted. "Yes, I lied about the trap, but it wasn't meant to harm you."

"Bullshit!" Eirik retorted.

"It wasn't bull-shite!" said Crixus. "I needed to get you out of harm's way."

Eirik sheathed his great-sword upon his back and then leaped towards the nearest platform, but, heavily armored as he was, he almost missed the last few planks, which creaked under his weight as he tried to pull himself to safety. Just as he was up, he saw Crixus running up the tiled roofs of the houses to get out of the way. Slowly Eirik pulled himself back onto his feet.

"The prisons of Solitude are out of harm's way to you, ass-hole?" Eirik asked.

"Yes," Crixus returned. "At least there you'd have been safe."

"Safe from what?" Eirik asked as he began trying to walk up the tiled roof towards Crixus.

"The Empire had to win this damn Civil War," Crixus said. "I've told you that from the beginning. Knowing you, I knew you'd run to Windhelm and try something stupid once word got out that it was besieged."

"So you imprisoned m..." Eirik began, but his foot fell through a rotten roof-timber and he was stuck for a moment.

"I put you out of harm's way," reasoned Crixus. "Once Ulfric was dead and the rebellion over, I'd have you released."

"Bullshit!" Eirik repeated. "Aren't you the one...who hates all Nords? Who'd rather see us all die because...you say we're too much trouble?"

"I don't know where you come up with half of the things I supposedly say," Crixus returned.

This only served to anger Eirik all the more. With a loud shout he wrenched his foot free and crawled the rest of the way. Crixus carefully edged away from Eirik, placing one foot behind the other as he balanced on the center beam of the roof on which he stood. Eirik was now on his feet, teetering with each step as he was not as sure-footed as Crixus. Yet, steadily, he was able to gain balance and was now glaring at Crixus with fury in his eyes. The Colovian leaped onto the roof and began sliding down towards the awning, but Eirik refused to let him get away. Looking after him, he shouted: "_Wuld!_"

In a rush and blur, he was on him, seizing him about in his strong arms. But, underestimating the power of his own Thu'um, Eirik and Crixus were sent flying off the roof and then crashing into the cold waters of Lake Honrich. Coughing and sputtering they both rose to the surface, Crixus sooner because of his lighter armor. Eirik clawed after him, clutching at the moss-encrusted dock posts as he attempted to drag himself onto the docks after Crixus, who was already sloshing out of the way.

"You're holding back," Eirik gasped, pulling himself up half way up the dock.

"Exactly," Crixus returned. "Because I don't want to kill you."

"Too bad," Eirik returned. "I do."

Crixus was already on his feet when Eirik had pulled himself up onto the dock. He swiftly turned the way Crixus had ran and tried to catch up with him. But Crixus already had a healthy lead on him and with soaked clothes and heavy armor, he would not be able to catch up with him. He was still unable to Shout safely, so he seized a bucket of fish from one of the hatcheries on the side of the dock, dumped the fish and threw the wooden bucket at Crixus. It fell short of his head and instead caught him on the legs, sending him down onto the slippery docks. Eirik made his way swiftly towards him, great-sword in hand.

Without spending any time on words, Eirik lunged at Crixus. In a swift motion, Crixus drew out a black short-sword, which held off the blow. Eirik pushed against the blade, hoping that his larger size and strength could force back Crixus, but he felt weaker the closer he pushed against the black blade. For a moment he wondered if the blade were enchanted.

Thus weakened, Crixus was able to roll aside and rise back up to his feet. But moving thus gave new strength to Eirik, who swung at Crixus again with his great-sword. Every strike against Crixus' black short-sword felt like striking a stone: only instead of simply jarring, Eirik felt weaker every time his blade struck the black blade of Crixus' sword. Yet his anger burned hotter within him than his better judgment and he fought on, swing after swing, clash after clash. With every blow he struck against the black blade, sparks rained down onto the floor around them.

Eirik did not heed the look on Crixus' face or any other words he said. There was nothing more in his mind than Crixus' blade and his own. He had suffered too long at Crixus' mouth and hand: he would have to find an opening even if it taxed every ounce of his strength. Crixus, meanwhile, was losing ground, moving back up the stairs onto the main level of the city.

Aside from his enchanted sword (which baffled Eirik since Crixus did not seem like one who would use magic to gain an advantage in a battle, due to his disdain of the Thu'um), this was the first time that Eirik fought Crixus man to man in a sword-fight. As the battle wore on and Eirik's fury simmered down from an all-consuming blaze to cold hands upon his throat, urging him onward, he saw exactly what kind of fighter was Crixus. His stance was that of the Legionnaires Eirik had fought and, despite both his age and apparent favor of the bow and knife over a short-sword, was holding his own.

Yet the battle wore on and Eirik's strength was being sapped by his proximity to Crixus' black blade. Crixus noticed this and began evading his opponent, making Eirik swing wide and miss, taxing his strength even more. Aside from the Thu'um, Eirik's greatest battle trait was raw strength, which could overcome most opponents. Crixus, on the other hand, was not as wildly strong but more disciplined due to his time in the Legion. Furthermore, he was fighting for his life and fighting with a cool head.

None of them noticed the rain that had begun to fall down upon them as they fought, nor the rails, planks, market shops and stands that would suddenly become part of the fight at a moment's notice. Even the city guards refused to try to stop the fight: for them, the sheer sight of it was something to behold. On the one hand was Eirik, chief captain of the Sons of Skyrim and Bear of Eastmarch; each blow was like the swing of the paws of his namesake. The other one darted here and there, swift and powerful as a dragon.

Eirik, his anger cooling down, realized that there would be no way to break Crixus' guard. His skill as a fighter was just enough to keep him on an equal footing with Eirik's strength. There was only one way in which Eirik could gain the upper hand, but he hesitated using it for a moment, as it would not be fair to use this against Crixus since he never used it. But then it occurred to Eirik that Crixus never cared about fairness or rules: if he wanted to beat him, he would have to dispense with honor for a moment. He could not, with that enchanted black blade, find a way to defeat him.

"_**Fus...Ro Dah!**_"

Both of them shouted at the same time, for Crixus had guessed Eirik's mind and knew which Thu'um he favored. At that moment thunder broke out from the storm around them and, with the sound of their Thu'um, no one dared approach them now: to those who who were still braving the rain to watch them, it sounded like the gods themselves had come down and were speaking through these two. Both Eirik and Crixus were thrust back, Crixus slamming against a wooden wall and Eirik against one of the seller's booths behind him. Eirik crawled onto his feet, but saw before him Crixus drawing his bow and fitting an arrow into the string.

"I'll do it if I have to," said Crixus. "Now stand down!"

Once again, Eirik's being was filled with the same fire and disregard of anything that had filled him when he charged Windhelm. For too long his own desires had been sidelined for the good of all of Skyrim, and all it had gotten him was pain, suffering and loneliness. Not today. Today he was determined to take what had long since been denied him: vengeance against this agitator who had made his life miserable ever since they had met. It would end today. With a roaring battle shout, he rose to his feet and ran towards Crixus, sword in hand.

Suddenly he slammed against the wooden rail to his right, an arrow having struck him. He looked towards Crixus, whom he assumed had fired the arrow - he could see no one else - but suddenly his vision began to go blurry. He thought he saw a dark shape flounder and then fall, but his own world was growing dark as well. His mind also began to grow numb as darkness engulfed him. The last thing in his mind was Mjoll the Lioness; she it was who had been in his thoughts every moment since they were parted.

_Forgive me..._

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I'm gonna keep this author's note mercifully short, since you were all waiting for this battle [and so was i]. I also got to write out some of Eirik's reasons [or lack thereof] of going to Windhelm instead of going after Mjoll. That is something that will haunt him for a while, since they were kind of hurriedly married.)<strong>


	39. A Deadly Revelation

**(AN: Please pardon this lengthy author's note, but i have to say some things before i begin this chapter. First, i know that what will be revealed in this chapter will probably annoy/anger most of you, since you were hoping for Eirik to kill Crixus [surprised me, since everybody loves the Empire and everybody loves a bad guy, i thought they would be drawn to him]. Second, i also know that some might see what i am doing here as poor; to that, here is my defense. We, my brother and I, both agreed that Kirkbride's _C0DA_ was a pompous ego trip that satisfied nothing other than those hardcore Kirkbride cultists who love _Morrowind_ and hate all other _Elder Scrolls_ games. To that end, we both agreed that we needed to continue the story that _Skyrim_ left off, Kirkbride apparently ignored [anything after _Morrowind_ wasn't even mentioned, only a brief comment about the Septim dynasty being the last human empire] and, with the release of _ESO_, Bethesda Studios refused to continue on their own.)  
><strong>

**(To that end, i developed this sub-plot, which my brother agreed to and so we decided that this is our version of what happens after the events of _Skyrim_.)**

* * *

><p><strong>A Deadly Revelation<strong>

When Eirik finally awoke, he found himself in a room of stone, lying in a bed of straw. As he tried to rise up, he realized that he was in chains. Looking around the room, he saw there were two torches upon the walls near the door and, across the room on another straw bed, he saw Crixus, chained up as well. He struggled at his chains, eager to break out and ring Crixus' throat: no one would stand in the way of his vengeance. Moments passed and the door was opened: there stepped out someone Eirik had not seen in a long span of months. Ragni, a Nord freeman who had joined the dragon hunting party known as the Guardians of Skyrim, stood now before him, clad in the Akaviri armor he had seen Delphine wear at the peace summit.

"Well met, Dragonborn," he said. "It's been too long since we rode to Ivarstead together, ain't it?"

"Where am I?" Eirik asked. "What is this place? Why is _he_ here?" He gestured towards Crixus. "And why in Talos' name am I chained like a prisoner?"

"Orders," Ragni said evasively.

"Whose?" Eirik returned.

"Is he awake yet?" Ragni asked, gesturing to Crixus.

Eirik shook his head. "Whose orders, Ragni?"

"Get up," he said. "They're waiting for you."

Eirik could get nothing more out of Ragni, who proceeded to remove Eirik's chains from the wall, leaving him now with just a pair of shackles around his wrists. He then roused Crixus and did the same. Immediately, Ragni stood between Eirik and Crixus, then escorted Eirik out of the room, leading him to a wide stone hall which Eirik distinctly remembered from a long while ago. Once he was out in the larger hall, Ragni returned to the room for Crixus.

In the meanwhile, Eirik gazed at the familiar setting of the hall. It was not as cold, dark or austere as he recalled, for there were torches in the niches upon the walls and fires blazing in braziers here and there. There was a large opening in the roof which shone down light upon a large stone mural, depicting many events in the history of Tamriel, as Eirik recalled from his last visit. The hall also seemed less empty than he remembered it, for there were guards at the doors, men and women of all races sharpening their blades or engaging in idle chit-chat about the events around Tamriel - the echo of the room obscured any discerning of their speech. While he was thus standing there, admiring the stone hall around him, a middle-aged Breton woman in traditional Akaviri armor approached him. Here also was another face he had not seen for a long while, before the culling of Clan Grey-Mane and the takeover of Whiterun.

"Dragonborn," Delphine greeted. "It's good to see that you're awake."

"What is this, Delphine?" Eirik asked. "Why am I here...and in chains?"

"That was Esbern's idea," she returned. "He seemed to think that there would be some bad blood between you and the other one."

"What other one?"

"The other Dragonborn," she replied.

"Crixus?" Eirik asked. "Is this why you've abducted me...us? Because of Crixus?"

"Esbern will explain everything once we're ready," said Delphine.

Moments later Ragni appeared, bringing Crixus along behind him. Before Eirik could ask another question, Delphine departed. Now alone with someone he tried to kill just a few moments ago - if only moments had passed since their battle in Riften - Eirik felt a great sense of discomfort looking at Crixus. Instead, he turned to Ragni.

"So, what have you been doing?" he asked.

"Hunting dragons," said Ragni. "That's why you told Esbern about us, right?"

"Have you slain any dragons?" Eirik asked.

"Three," he said. "One in the highlands of Haafingar, another in the Alik'r Desert and last one in a cave in the Jerall Mountains near Bruma. As the Blades, we don't have no boundaries as far as hunting dragons go: where they go, we go."

"They taught you how to slay dragons?" inquired Eirik.

"Aye," Ragni nodded. "And this armor ain't too bad either. I daresay my cousin would like a suit of armor this fine."

Esbern arrived shortly and instructed Ragni to have Crixus and Eirik seated at the table in the center of the room. They sat opposite each other, with Delphine on Esbern's right, left of Eirik and Ragni on Esbern's left, right of Crixus. Esbern asked for the room to be cleared, then waited as the others left the main hall, closing the doors behind them.

"It's been a long while since the failed peace summit at High Hrothgar," Esbern began. "And I see that we have all gone down our separate paths." Eirik noted a hint of disapproval in his voice as he spoke to them.

"Where are we, Esbern?" Eirik asked.

"Sky Haven Temple," he replied. "It's been three days since your little brawl with Servius here."

"He started it," Crixus said, gesturing with his chained hands to Eirik.

"Is this really the time to be bringing up old hatreds?" asked Ragni. Eirik laughed, but when the Nord warrior turned his eyes to him, he lowered his head and looked instead towards Esbern.

"Before we begin," he said. "I should thank you, Eirik Dragonborn, for recommending these fine young men and women of the Guardians of Skyrim. They have proved to be excellent candidates for the reformed Blades."

"So the rumors are true," Crixus said.

"It is difficult to hide our operation for long," Esbern stated. "Even though we are in the Reach, which, as of the Eighth of Sun's Dawn belongs to the Forsworn, there are still many eyes and ears about Tamriel."

"I find that hard to believe," Crixus stated.

"Your purpose in Skyrim is known to us, Crixus," Delphine interjected. "After the summit, Esbern and I got as much information on you as we could."

"Oh yeah?" Crixus asked. "Well, maybe I don't like being spied upon by anyone, even if they are the Blades. And why are you even around anymore? I thought the Blades were exterminated at the start of the Great War."

"Esbern has told me that there may have been others who survived the purge," Delphine answered. "Just recently, while tracking a dragon in the Jerall Mountains, we found an Akaviri oath-blade in Bloated Man's Grotto in Falkreath. It belonged to Acilius Bolar, who according to Esbern was stationed at Cloud Ruler Temple in Cyrodiil."

"And what does this have to do with us?" Eirik asked.

"Yeah," added Crixus. "Weren't the Blades guardians of the Emperor or something?"

Esbern, who had been gazing intently on Crixus, cleared his throat and continued speaking.

"I am thoroughly disappointed in you, Eirik Dragonborn," he said. "For letting a clear and present danger survive while you do in Skyrim exactly what the Thalmor did in Valenwood, Elsweyr and Hammerfell before and after the War."

"It's exactly as I said, eh?" Crixus said with a smirk on his face.

"And regarding the matter of Servius!" he exclaimed. "Did not Delphine tell you to tell him at once?"

"He led me into a trap..."

"To save your ungrateful arse!" said Crixus. "I see that that was a mistake. I should have just let you run off to New Gnisis and die with the rest of Ulfric's boys when the Dunmer had their vengeance."

"The city is called Windhelm," Eirik seethed. "And the Stormcloaks did not die! They live on as the Sons of Skyrim!"

"Whom you have successfully led in dividing up Skyrim for the Dominion?" Esbern asked angrily. "Gods above, the Thalmor ambassador must be laughing at us all in their embassy, thinking that half of his work is already done for him." He paused for a moment, then looked at each of them long and carefully in turn. At last he spoke.

"The gods have seen fit to bless us in this era with two of the Dragonborn blood," he said. "Most would dismiss this as an impossibility, and, were there now a Dragonborn Emperor on the Imperial throne, we would agree. The nature of the Dragonborn has been a closely guarded secret for the Blades since the time of Reman Cyrodiil."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Because there _were_ two of them living at the same time once," Crixus interjected. "Cuhlecain and Tiber Septim. They were both fitting emperors, the only reason we call drakes 'septims' and not 'cuhlecains' is because your precious Talos murdered Cuhlecain in his sleep and, through bribery, murder and intimidation, took the throne of the Empire for himself."

"It is not wise for you, Servius Crixus, to mock Tiber Septim," Esbern stated.

"I speak only the truth about him," Crixus replied.

"The truth is rarely what is plain and apparent, but what those who hold power choose it to be," Esbern continued. "The Dominion hold power over the Empire, and so it is law to blaspheme the name of Talos and refrain from worshiping him. The Blades, also, know of this as well. Long have we said that there can only be one Dragonborn at any period in time." He looked at them both.

"So you were wrong?" Crixus asked. "How does this affect me?"

"Tell me about your family heritage," Esbern said to Crixus. "Who was your father?"

"Valerius Crixus," he replied. "He was a town guard in Anvil, always did his duty. A paragon of loyalty and obedience to the Empire."

"And your mother?"

"Why does that matter, old Nord?" Crixus asked, his teeth clenched.

"Please, just answer the question." Esbern returned.

Crixus sighed. "Claudia Maro. Her family is very important in Anvil. Several of my maternal cousins are in the Penitus Oculatus. My family has a strong history of loyal, dutiful service to the Empire."

"How far back can you trace your paternal family?" Esbern asked.

"To Longinus Crixus," he said. "He was my great-great grand-sire. He was a peasant farmer in Bruma, and so was his father and his father as far back as can be recalled. They all married farmer's daughters and never left Bruma until..."

"Until?" Esbern asked.

"Until my great grand-sire Cicero met Alessia the Unlucky," Crixus replied. "Look, where is all this going?"

"Yes, where _is_ all this going?" asked Eirik.

"After the peace summit," Esbern said. "I returned here to contemplate on an old mystery, one that had been nagging at the back of my mind since before the Great War."

"What was that?" Eirik asked.

"Forty years ago," Esbern began. "As a young initiate of the Blades, I stumbled upon a hidden chapel in the woods of Kvatch: it was dedicated to the Cult of the Dragon."

"Dragon cults in Cyrodiil?" Eirik asked incredulously.

"Not exactly," said Esbern. "The Cult of the Dragon was founded roughly a hundred years after the Oblivion Crisis and was made to honor those who fought alongside the Hero of Kvatch. Perhaps Servius Crixus can shed some light on them."

"They call themselves 'the Cult of the Dragon,'" Crixus said. "In honor of St. Martin, who became the avatar of Akatosh to defeat Mehrunes Dagon, thereby ending the Oblivion Crisis. If anyone deserved godhood, it was St. Martin."

"You mean Martin Septim?" Eirik asked.

"He was canonized during the Great War," Esbern stated. "Members of the Cult of the Dragon may be found in high places, as I realized when I first met them. From my research, I believe they influenced the canonization of Martin Septim as a means to rally the Imperial Legion, to let them know that they had a divine protector, one whose name was already well known and revered in legend."

"I thought you didn't hold with gods or worship," Eirik said, turning to Crixus.

"I don't," Crixus returned. "But if anyone deserves worship, it was Martin Septim."

"So what is this...Cult of the Dragon, anyhow?" Eirik asked.

"A heresy of the Nine Divines, so to speak," Esbern continued. "They worship all the Divines, but especially Akatosh, who empowered St. Martin to save Tamriel from the Oblivion Crisis. They have many sub-orders, dedicated to those who fought with the Hero of Kvatch. For instance, there is St. Garium, after Ghar'jumo the Bandit, there's St. Vilia, after Vilja of Solstheim, and so on, such as St. Carodus and St. Abeylis and many others. But the highest of the order were those of St. Baurus, whose name I knew by heart. For the Blades never forget their history, even as far back as the time of Reman Cyrodiil. You see, Baurus was the name of one of the Blades serving Uriel Septim VII during the last days of his life and was one of the warriors who fought with the Hero of Kvatch."

"So?" Crixus asked. "They made a saint after one of the Hero of Kvatch's companions?"

"Excuse me," Eirik spoke up. "But who are Carodus, Ghar'jumo and Abeylis?"

Crixus chuckled. "Don't you know? Come on, you at least were raised in Bruma, you should have at _least_ heard about them! Every child in Cyrodiil knows the names of the allies of the Hero of Kvatch."

"I was thirteen when I lived in Bruma," Eirik returned. "I would not have learned it as a child."

Crixus scoffed. "Skyrim isn't the only place with old legends. In Cyrodiil, the tales of the Hero of Kvatch are legendary. They say he, or she, led a small band with a member from every race in Tamriel against the hordes of Oblivion. Carodus for the Imperials, Vilja for the Nords, Baurus for the Redguards, Abeylis Hlaalu for the Dunmer, Ghar'jumo for the Khajiit, so on and so forth. It's some moral story about how friendship and banding together and all that child's story shite."

"But they _did_ exist, right?" Eirik asked. "I mean, the Hero of Kvatch is legendary, everyone knows about her. They have statues in Kvatch and I met Vilja in Sovngarde. She at least is real."

"You went to Sovngarde?" Ragni, who had been silent thus far, asked in tones of amazement.

"Oh, please," Crixus said, rolling his eyes.

"It is believed by some," Esbern said to Crixus. "That Sovngarde is a plane of Aetherius, just as how there are multiple planes of Oblivion. It is not that difficult to believe."

"Maybe for you," Crixus said. "But I believe what I see with my eyes and hold in my hands."

"And yet I saw Sovngarde with my own eyes," Eirik said. "And felt the embrace of those there with my own hands?"

"You'll believe any gust of fire or blast of wind is the voice of the Nine!" Crixus retorted. "I bet you even jump at the shadows at night, thinking they're the farts of the gods!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Esbern interjected. "While you two bicker and argue, the Thalmor make plans to plunder Skyrim which you two have divided."

"Wait a minute, you two?" Crixus asked. "I _serve_ the Empire! My duty has always been to protect and uphold the laws of the Empire..."

"By murdering the Emperor?" Eirik added.

"You shut your whore mouth!" Crixus roared. "You know nothing!"

"Silence, both of you!" Esbern shouted. "By the gods, you two are worse than Ulfric and General Tullius!"

"It's his fault!" both Eirik and Crixus said at once.

"He's a smug Imperial who looks down on anyone who isn't like him," Eirik said.

"He's a rebel, a Nord, a drunkard and an all-around dumb-arse." Crixus retorted.

"You're both at fault!" Esbern retorted.

"I have to ask you," Delphine interjected. "To keep your b*tching down until we're through. Esbern isn't as strong as he used to be and you two will drive him into an early grave!"

"I'm fine, Delphine, I'm alright," Esbern reassured Delphine, then turned back to the two Dragonborns.

"Now," he continued. "As I was saying, the order of St. Baurus was the most secretive and the most tight-lipped. When I returned to Cloud Ruler Temple, I investigated all the Blades knew about Baurus. All that we knew was that he served Emperor Uriel Septim VII towards the start of the Oblivion Crisis and later was part of the companions of the Hero of Kvatch, though there was an addendum about some secret he had between himself and the Hero of Kvatch which was to be investigated."

"And what was that secret?" Crixus asked.

"The Blades did not know," Esbern returned. "Baurus had no sons, no confidants other than his squire, who was not of the Blades but of the Knights of the Nine, an order of knights in Cyrodiil dedicated to the hunting of beasts, particularly daedric beasts. Unfortunately, all their records were lost during the Great War and its aftermath. So I made the journey back to the chapel and asked for the monks who served St. Baurus for information regarding him. I...admit that I lost my patience with them and may have threatened them; I was young and intemperate. Eventually they showed me an ancient record, written by the squire of St. Baurus, that spoke of the Last Scion of the Dragon Blood, a descendant of the Septim blood-line."

"More prophecy bull-shite," Crixus groaned.

"This was very perplexing," Esbern continued. "Martin Septim had no children, nor did his half-brothers or half-sisters, Uriel's children who were killed at the start of the Oblivion Crisis. I began researching the known Septim children and my search found nothing. It took me many years to track them down, and by the time I had made sure that they had no secret children, no bastards or hidden marriages, the War with the Dominion erupted and I had to flee for my life. But then my interest was piqued when I heard Eirik here tell of a second Dragonborn."

"Me?" Crixus asked. "Look, I've ran into the Cult of the Dragon, they've called me the Last Scion or Dragon of the South, or whatever. None of it makes sense, and it's all bull-shite anyway."

"Why is that, Servius?" Esbern asked.

"They were looking for someone to fit the criteria for their Last Scion or whatever,"' said Crixus. "I'm...well, I have experience in warfare, I'm learned and literate and I'm Colovian. They practically threw leadership onto me, saying that..."

"'The Dragon of the South is yours,'" Eirik quoted, remembering Vilja's words in the Hall of Shor.

"Exactly," Crixus said. "But it's all a mistake. My family isn't related to the Septims. The Crixian family have been farmers for centuries."

"Until Alessia the Unlucky married your great-grandsire, you said," Esbern pointed out.

"Yes, I said that," Crixus returned.

"Why did they call your great grandmother unlucky?" asked Delphine.

"The story goes," Crixus said. "That she had lost three husbands before she married Cicero Crixus. One to the Black Sacrament, another from falling off a horse and the third from sickness. If the people of Kvatch didn't believe she was cursed, they believed it when she cursed the Eight-and-One. Personally, I don't blame her for cursing them: all she wanted was happiness and they killed three of her husbands!"

"Is that all you know about your great grandmother?" Esbern asked.

"Just that," Crixus said. "And that she was an Imperial who lived in Hammerfell before moving to Kvatch."

Esbern smiled slyly as he leaned back in his chair. "It just so happens that the Blades visited Hammerfell recently. While many of the records have been destroyed during the wars between the Crowns and the Forebears, there was a record of the birth of a rather wealthy and influential Imperial woman living in Skaven in Hammerfell: her name was Septima Crassius." Crixus straightened up as he heard the name. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"That was my great-grandmother's last name before she married my great-grandsire," said Crixus. "Alessia Crassius."

"Armed with this evidence," Esbern stated. "I rejoiced when another dragon was sighted, this time near Bruma, on the southern side of the Jerall Mountains: another opportunity for the Blades to go there, for me to make a journey with them. My memory is not as bad as my hearing and I knew where to find the chapel of the Cult of the Dragon, if it was still standing."

"It's still standing, alright," Crixus replied.

"That it is," Esbern said. "And when I mentioned the name of Septima Crassius, the tight-lipped monks of St. Baurus opened up to me at last. It seems there were some among them who knew where to look to find the Last Scion of the Septim blood-line. They had been searching for him since their foundation, and where both our searches ended, at Septima Crassius, we came together. Septima was always elusive to them, ever since she joined the Dark Brotherhood, back when her maiden name was Oholin."

"Wait, Oholin?" Crixus asked. "Was she related to Carodus Oholin?"

"I asked as much myself," Esbern stated. "But there my search seemed to come to an end. Septima Oholin had been the daughter of Carolinus and Romana Oholin, the former of whom was the son of Carodus from the legend. But as for Romana's parents, none of the monks knew who they were. They said that no one in the Cult of the Dragon knew who Romana's parents had been, only the head of the order, whom I had not met, not even in my younger days."

"So?" Eirik asked. "Did you meet him?"

"It turns out that the new head of the order," Esbern said. "Was one I had met in my youth, his predecessor having long since passed away. In greatest confidence he revealed to me the secret which I gave to Delphine to give to you, Eirik, to give to Servius Crixus. But I see now that you have failed in this."

"I told him what you told me to say," Delphine returned. "If he refused to tell it to Crixus..."

"As you can see," Eirik retorted. "We haven't been on the best of terms, Crixus and I."

"Wait a minute, what more do you have to say to me?" Crixus asked.

"If you can't do something so simple," Esbern said grumpily. "Then _I_ must do it." He turned to Crixus.

"What I am about to tell you must not leave this room. From what the head of the order of St. Baurus told me, men have died protecting this secret. If word got out prematurely, it would upset the Empire. Many would be trying to kill you, Servius, both from outside the Empire and from within."

Crixus chuckled. "People have been trying to kill me since I joined the Legion. What secret could possibly be this dangerous?"

"This is no laughing matter!" Esbern reminded Crixus. "This knowledge could make or break the Empire and all those whose lives and fortunes are bound up in the fate of the Empire. This is why I have had the others dismissed..." He turned to Ragni. "...and why I must ask you now to leave, friend Ragni."

Ragni nodded, then walked out of the stone hall. Eirik looked at the mural, wondering if he was going to be asked to leave. Once the door closed and he was not told to leave, he assumed that what was to be said was for his ears as well. With open ears he listened to what Esbern said next, in a whisper that, due to the stone walls, reverberated until all in the room could hear it.

"Romana," he said. "Was not an Oholin by birth, but by adoption. Though she, like the Oholin family, was Colovian, she was not of their family. The elder monk of the order of St. Baurus told me what the previous elder told him from the lips of the previous elder all the way back to St. Baurus' squire: Martin Septim did indeed have a child, a daughter by Valeria Vulcanis, whose name has been forgotten and is remembered only as the Hero of Kvatch. Romana was that daughter."

Eirik was the first one to make the connection, having followed Esbern's trail of discussion from Crixus' great grand-sire all the way back to Romana Oholin. Then he recalled the words that the mad god Sheogorath had said to him; at the time it seemed like more insane words like the jibes about cheese, but now it seemed to make sense.

_What does it mean that you and I are related?_

Sheogorath had called himself the Hero of Kvatch and had transformed into the likeness of a Colovian woman. Was it possible then that there was someone whose name had vanished from history but, before his death and her disappearance, had born a child of the last Septim? A child kept in secret for years, name hidden from all the official records? And then, considering this, was it possible that this family lasted all through the years, mother to daughter, father to son, until they arrived at the man sitting across from him? Those were the words that Delphine had shared with him so long ago, as well as the oracle which Aranea had given him, but he refused to believe them. Now there was proof, almost undeniable: was Servius Crixus the Last Scion of the Septim blood-line?

* * *

><p>Surprisingly, Crixus chuckled at this revelation.<p>

"Just what are you saying?" he asked.

"Servius Crixus," Esbern said, turning to him. "You are, by right of blood, the seventh generation of the Last Scion of the Septim blood-line."

Once more Crixus scoffed, then turned to Eirik. "Come on, Eirik. Even you're not so stupid to believe this, right?" Eirik made no answer and Crixus turned to Esbern. "You're just like the Cult of the Dragon, you're looking for something to fit your explanation, aren't you?"

"You don't need to take my word for it," said Esbern. "I have documentation of everything thus far in my journal. You can look at it if you wish."

"I don't understand, though," Crixus asked. "If you spent so much time investigating my background, why didn't you look up any of the other people in my family tree?"

"What do you mean?" Esbern asked.

"Septima Crassius had many children," Crixus continued. "If she's the great granddaughter of Martin Septim, as you say she was, why don't you go looking after her children?"

"There were no records of their marriage," Esbern stated. "Apparently the Thieves Guild in Hammerfell keeps no records of its members."

"What about Alessia?" Crixus asked. "If, as you say, the Septim dynasty passed down through women, why did it suddenly decide to settle upon Alecto and not his sister?"

"I have traced the descent as best as can be contrived," Esbern returned. "How it came to be that you are the Last Scion is for the gods to determine, not I."

"Bull-shite!" Crixus retorted. "I..I mean by this, there must be hundreds of other people distantly related to me you should be interrogating. What about the Maro family? Or my brother Venerius; why aren't you going after him?"

"Wait a minute," Eirik spoke up. "I heard someone say this before. Both a warrior in Sovngarde and the Hero of Kvatch herself." He turned to Crixus. "So...you're the distant relative of the Septims, whose blood-line you have deplored endlessly due to their relation to 'oh so wicked' Talos..."

"Shut the fuck up, this is important!" Crixus retorted.

"But what does it mean that you're related to the Hero of Kvatch?" Eirik asked. "Does that mean you're the heir to the Empire...the very Empire whose Emperor you slew...just like you criticized 'wicked' Talos for doing to your beloved Cuhlecain..."

"One more word out of you," Crixus said angrily, straining at his chains. "And I swear I'll break out of these chains and shove my fist up your arse!"

"That is exactly what it means," Esbern stated, turning to Eirik. "By right of blood, he is the closest and rightful heir to the Throne of the Empire of Tamriel."

"No!" Crixus retorted. "No, I...I refuse to be part of this idiocy anymore! It's-it's ludicrous! Sheer and utter madness!"

"Why?" Esbern asked.

"Your forged family trees don't mean shite to me," Crixus raged. "I don't have to believe anything you just said now, and I refuse to believe any of it! I am a man, nothing more and nothing less! I didn't ask to have this Voice crutch and if there are any gods, they would not be so cruel as to make me related, no matter how distantly, to that scum Tiber Septim!"

"I have seen the evidence with my own eyes," Esbern calmly replied.

"I don't care!" Crixus retorted. "I refuse to believe it!"

"We both heard what Sheogorath said," Eirik added.

"And you're going to believe a mad god? A mad god?" Crixus retorted. "You must be even more stupid than I thought!"

"You cannot run from what you are, Servius Crixus," Esbern said.

"You wanna see me try?"

"Crixus..."

"I don't want to be a god, or a promised hero, a Colovian Dragonborn, the next Emperor or whatever," Crixus raged. "You know what I want? To retire to a nice palace somewhere in the Imperial City and have naked wenches serve me wine and food until I grow fat and gout-ridden. I've had enough of your wars, of everyone's wars, and I just want peace!"

"Sometimes we don't always get what we want," Eirik said. "I should know that."

"Why?" Crixus retorted. "Because your fat b*tch was abducted? Boo-fucking-hoo! My mother died before I knew her! What about you, huh? Do you remember your mother? Did you have any brothers who just up and vanished? Were you betrayed by the people you swore an oath to protect?"

"How do you know about her?" Eirik asked, concern and anger in his voice at both Crixus' mention of Mjoll and how he mentioned her.

"I'm not telling you anything," Crixus said to Eirik, then turned to Esbern. "And I refuse to be your Emperor!"

"You are free to do as you will," said Esbern to Crixus. "But whatever you do, I implore you to keep what you have heard here a secret. No one must know about what was said. There are some who are not as obstinate as you are and will believe these signs and come after you once they know who and what you are."

"Oh, don't you worry," Crixus sighed, calming down slowly. "I don't think _anybody_ would be stupid enough to believe this nonsense."

With that, Crixus rose from his chair and walked over to the mural, keeping more or less to himself, saying no word and making no sound other than deep gasps of furious breath. Eirik, meanwhile, was shocked at his outburst. It was one of the first times since he had met Crixus, if not the first time all together, when he saw him both thoroughly bothered. He was not angry just to spur someone else to anger or out of frustration at someone he thought lesser in his own estimation than himself; he seemed genuinely disturbed by what had been revealed.

And just as surprising as Crixus' reaction was Eirik's realization that he had been acting as Crixus had usually been in their conversations. Was he, by reason of the constant warfare, season unending, into which he had thrown himself, becoming less and less the Eirik Bjornsson he knew and more and more like Crixus? It certainly explained his sudden outrage against Maul, brutalizing his body over an offense almost a year ago, or sending Ingun Black-Briar, the only decent one of the family, out into the wilderness with the rest of her misbegotten family. Part of him understood now why Crixus acted as he did, but that did not give him sympathy for him: he hated in himself this 'new man' that he was becoming just as much as he hated it in Crixus. It always seemed to shine through, despite the moments they had had together that had changed them. There was no sympathy for what Crixus did, nor was there for any reason any sympathy for those attributes in himself.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Finally all my time-lines and pre-planning actually pay off. I put that last part in to remind the audience that i am NOT going for the "misunderstood bad-guy" role with Crixus. I'm sick of that. There is no misunderstanding with Crixus; he really does hate Nords and thinks the Empire is all. That is still a flaw of his that has to be worked through. There is now the addition of <em>this<em> new revelation.)**

**(Thank you once again for the reviews. My brother was not pleased at any suggestion of mine for kicking the Thieves Guild and the Black-Briars out of Riften, so I kind of left Anuriel there to hint that the Black-Briars/Thieves Guild are not yet finished. And, perhaps I haven't been saying this hard enough, this story represents a very dark time for Eirik. He's burned alive Imperial Legions through summoning a dragon, struck a man just because he gave him bad news and killed another man before his brother's eyes. And of course against the back-drop of this is his decision to split Skyrim through his actions as leader of the Sons of Skyrim. They're not excusable, but I feel like, how he is now, especially now, he would be more reckless and prone to do things that he normally wouldn't do.)**


	40. Allegiance

**(AN: I honestly don't know what more I can do with Serana and Aela, especially Aela. I know she's a fan favorite, but right now the Companions have to divide their time between answering the Call of the Bloodmoon and helping Eirik find Mjoll, so they're all over Skyrim. Serana will definitely have some kind of role in _The Dragon of the South_, which will show what happened to her after "Kindred Judgment".)**

* * *

><p><strong>Allegiance<strong>

Slowly, Eirik walked over to the mural, where Crixus stood. He was towards the end, near a portion of the mural which depicted an Oblivion gate. He seemed to be much enamored with the mural, but said nothing to himself or made any notice of Eirik's approach.

"Hey," Eirik said. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" Crixus returned, looking over his shoulder at Eirik. "Oh, yes, whatever you think. Just needed to blow off some steam."

"You're not upset in any way?" Eirik asked. "No hateful remarks to make at me?"

"Look, what do you expect me to say?" Crixus asked, turning around. "That you're a drunken, war-mongering, elf-hating barbarian? According to them, I'm no different."

"I thought you didn't believe what they said," Eirik returned.

"I _am_ a drunk and I do hate the Altmer and Dunmer," Crixus said. "I'd probably drink your arse under the table." He chuckled. "You've got to admit, though, it's pretty far-fetched, what they said."

"That's why it's a matter of faith," Eirik said.

"Yeah? Well, I've never been one for faith or belief," Crixus sighed. "Look, why am I even having this conversation with you? You have no problem believing you're a Dragonborn or god-killing monster, or whatever you want to be. Why don't you become their Emperor for them?"

"Me?" Eirik asked.

"You're a leader," Crixus said. "And you're actually fine with this whole Dragonborn nonsense. And, while you might think I'm crazy, I've always said good things about you...behind your back, at least."

"I wondered why everyone said you spoke highly of me," Eirik said. "You seem to despise me at every turn."

"I thought I did, really," Crixus returned. "Fuck, maybe I really _do_ hate you. I'm not sure of anything anymore." He turned to the emblem of Oblivion gate on the mural, then turned back to Eirik. "Like what about you? How did you respond when you realized you were the Dragonborn?"

"I didn't know what to make of it," Eirik said. "I just killed a dragon and then it all sort of took off after that. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed, as though because I was Dragonborn, that suddenly meant that I had all the problems of Skyrim on my shoulders."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Crixus stated. "Now I know what you mean." Eirik chuckled. "What the fuck is it now?"

"We hate each other," Eirik said grimly. "And yet here we are, bonding over being overwhelmed by the burdens fate laid upon us."

"I swear to you," Crixus returned. "The trap wasn't supposed to kill you, just get you out of the way. I even tried to pay you back by returning all the gear you lost."

"What?" Eirik asked.

"I have friends in Solitude," Crixus said. "So I gathered everything of yours that was confiscated from your person when you were captured in Solitude. Then I sent Petruvius of the Imperial Haafingar garrison disguised as me to Riften with your things in a cart."

"My things?" Eirik asked.

"Well, not all of them," Crixus returned. "I stopped by Whiterun and found that your house had been given to someone else and your goods have disappeared there as well."

"You were doing this for me?" Eirik asked.

"I told you I didn't want to harm you," Crixus returned. "You shouldn't have been such an arse to think that I'm just going to stab you in the back the first chance I get."

"Certainly seems something that you would do," Eirik added.

"Maybe not," Crixus said. "Maybe I'm becoming more like you while being around you, just like, I see, you're becoming more like me."

"I hope not," Eirik returned. "All the shit you and I have been through, I don't think we could ever be friends, not this easily."

"What, more of your Nordic pride or whatever?" Crixus asked. "Look, you're going to have to trust me eventually."

"You've given me no reason to trust you," Eirik stated.

"Have faith, right?" Crixus said with a taunting smirk.

"So then what was the purpose?" Eirik asked.

"What are you babbling about now?" Crixus returned.

"Just now you were actually asting like someone else other than Servius Crixus," Eirik said. "Why the change then and why change back now?"

"No change," Crixus returned. "We're chained, so it's not like we can start fighting again. Then I suppose you just became annoying again."

Eirik groaned, then turned to walk away but paused. The long dormant part of himself which drove him to do the things he did lately seemed to be suggesting that he take up Crixus on his offer; if he wanted to be obstinately ignorant and refuse his birthright, who was he to deny this privilege? Should he not be the one to take up the Throne and make good for all the Empire as he saw fit?

But then he remembered how troublesome it was to run just a small band of two hundred men. He could not rule an empire of millions: he had neither the patience for it nor the desire to rule. Like Crixus, he wanted what he wanted; to retire to Lakeview Manor under a free Skyrim with Mjoll and their soon-to-be-born child, eating, drinking and chopping wood until the Divines took him at the end of his warrior's trail.

"Look," Eirik said, feeling strange as he spoke to one whom but a while ago he hated with great passion. "I'm not cut out for ruling anything, and I don't want to be a ruler either."

"Doesn't your name mean something like that in old Nordic?" Crixus asked. "'Eternal King' or whatever?"

"I don't want to be king," Eirik said. "I can barely govern two hundred men. I would be a very poor Emperor."

"Well, then, there's something we have in common," Crixus said.

"Really?" Eirik asked. "You're saying that there's actually something you're _not_ better at doing than a Nord?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Crixus groaned. "You seem to do that quite a bit around me, you know. And it makes you hard to be around."

"But why not you?" Eirik asked.

"I'm everything Tiber Septim was," Crixus said. "Back-stabbing, drunken, violent, whoring old man who hates Nords and elves alike. The Empire deserves someone like Martin Septim, their St. Martin, or whatever. Not someone like me."

"Perhaps there is no perfect man for that job?" Eirik asked. "Perhaps you are just fated to be the one to do what must be done, whether you like it or not?"

"I don't believe in fate," said Crixus. "And I won't just do something because there's nobody else to do it. That kind of reckless action is exactly what causes problems, like with you and that little band of men, your Sons of Skyrim or whatever. You know, as crazy as that old Nord Blade is about this whole Last Scion bull-shite, he was right about that. You've made it that much easier for the Dominion to take over Skyrim and all of Tamriel thereby, and faster in a few months than Ulfric could in a whole year of his little rebellion."

"What I did," Eirik returned. "I did for the people of Skyrim."

"Intentions don't measure into it," Crixus retorted. "Only results. And your results help the Thalmor more than the people of Skyrim." He sighed.

"Look, I know I'm not your most favorite person in all of Tamriel, but we have to put our differences aside. Neither of us want the Dominion to take over Tamriel, why can't we work towards that? The war is over, it's time to strengthen ourselves against the Dominion, not keep old hatreds alive."

"Because it's pointless," Eirik said. "No matter what we do, we are doomed to fail."

"Since when were you such a pessimist?" Crixus asked.

"I have received an oracle from the daedric prince Azura," Eirik said. "I was told by the Dunmer priestess Aranea Ienith to give a message to you."

"More omens and prophecies from false gods?" Crixus asked, his eyebrows titled upward in a cynical expression of doubt and disbelief.

"She said," Eirik said. "That you are destined to take the Throne of the Empire of Tamriel, but that your rule will be peace-less and beset by troubles. Your dynasty may outlast you, but they will not rule long after you. The race of men has no place in the great tapestry of fate and their time will soon come to an end. That was her message."

Crixus chuckled. "You know, I might just take them up on that offer, just to prove these gods and daedric princes wrong."

"A bad reason if any ever existed," Eirik added.

"Like I need _your_ approval," Crixus added as well.

Eirik rolled his eyes, feeling in his bones that the direction of the conversation was veering back towards familiar territory. He left Crixus by the mural and walked over to where Delphine and Esbern were talking quietly to themselves. His footsteps echoed on the floor in the otherwise quiet room, giving away his approach long before he spoke.

"Is it now your policy," Eirik asked. "To imprison your guests or am I not a guest here?"

"That was because of you two," Esbern said, gesturing to Crixus.

"I went out to retrieve you," Delphine added. "When neither of you turned up in Whiterun, Windhelm or Solitude. When we finally found you, we had to take drastic measures to keep you two from killing each other."

"Yes," Esbern added. "It was of the utmost importance that both of you survive."

"Why?" Eirik asked. "And why both of us?"

"This is the age of which men will speak of for years to come," said Esbern. "Two Dragonborns! It will not be forgotten, and the Blades will be there to insure that nothing happens to either of you...even yourselves. There is nothing that cannot be accomplished with you two! Perhaps even the threat of the Aldmeri Dominion may be assuaged or, gods willing, quelled entirely?"

Eirik sighed. "I was foretold that the Empire will not last forever."

"Empires and kingdoms rarely do," Esbern added.

"I was also foretold," Eirik continued. "That anything we may do will be in vain, that the future has already been written and it does not include the race of men."

"And why should we let that stop us from doing what we can for this season?" asked Esbern. "You yourself have stopped the dragon Alduin from devouring the world, if the rumors are true. We must do what we must now to fight for the survival of the race of men: Nord, Colovian, Redguard and Breton, all of them. To the Thalmor, we are a pest, vermin to be enslaved or destroyed at will."

"And what would you have me do?" Eirik asked. "I have done what I can to unite Skyrim against the elves..."

"The Empire is not your enemy," Esbern returned. "A united Skyrim will fare better against the Dominion than one at war."

"So you expect me to throw my arms down?" Eirik asked. "Give up Talos, surrender to the Empire and turn my back on the Sons of Skyrim?"

"Fuck Skyrim and her sons," Crixus said, walking towards them from the mural. "Nobody cares about twenty-one racist ass-holes and their problems."

"There's Crixus," Eirik said grimly.

"And you're wasting your time with this little insurrection," Crixus said. "This old man is right: all you've done is divide Skyrim even further for the Dominion."

"I am freeing her for my people!" Eirik retorted.

"You might think your 'people' are some great race of noble warrior-kings," Crixus returned. "But you're dead wrong. You're no more warrior-kings than the red-eyed dark elves of Morrowind, rolling around in their ash-huts, and you're nowhere _near_ as noble as even the poorest Colovian of the Heartland.

"You say your people want freedom? They don't care about freedom or justice or who's right in what war. They only care about the insignificant wants of their life and their world. They do not fit into the grand scheme of things, and the sooner you realize this, the sooner you'll stop wasting your time with them."

"They are _not_ a waste of time!" Eirik returned.

"If this is going to be getting violent," Delphine interjected, drawing her sword. "I might have to call Ragni and the others back into the room."

"Oh, it won't get violent," Crixus said. "You stole our weapons, remember?"

"You two seem to hate each other so much," Delphine added. "You'd use your shackles to strangle the other or bash their head in."

"An excellent idea," Eirik noted, striding towards Crixus with the chains of his shackles in either hand.

"Guards!" Delphine shouted.

Immediately, a dozen guards in Blades armor rushed into the hall, each of them bearing a long-sword in the ancient style of the Akaviri of the east. If any of them moved, it would be the last thing they would do.

"Make your next move, Dragonborn," Esbern said. "Choose wisely, though. It would be a pity if Tamriel lost one of its greatest warriors before the battle of the age was joined."

"Are you threatening me?" Crixus asked.

"Never!" Esbern retorted. Eirik then watched in surprise as Esbern took a knee before Crixus. One by one, starting with Delphine, they all knelt down before Crixus, presenting their long oath-blades pommel first in offering to him.

"By right of blood," Esbern said reverently. "You are the heir of the Empire of Tamriel, sole ruler of High Rock, Hammerfell, Valenwood, Elsweyr, Cyrodiil, Skyrim and Morrowind, the old realm of the Septim dynasty."

"I told you already," Crixus sighed. "I refuse to be emperor. Find someone else. Use him!" He pointed at Eirik.

"He is not of the Emperor's lineage," said Esbern. "Nor is he fit to rule."

"Excuse me?" Eirik interjected. "The Harbinger of the Companions found me fit to lead them. The Sons of Skyrim saw fit for me to lead them..."

"Nobody cares," Crixus returned. "Your little hall of drunks are a cheap imitation of the great and noble Fighter's Guild. What does the word of one drunken Nord mean to anyone else but another drunken Nord?"

"Kodlak was your friend," Eirik returned.

"That doesn't make my words untrue," said Crixus. "And as for the people of Skyrim, they would elect an arse to lead them if that was in the wind."

"Please," Esbern interjected. "Eirik Dragonborn, be silent. You are a witness to the changing of history as we know it." He then turned his attention to Crixus. "Though you reject your birthright, it is yours to have. We will follow your orders as though your birthright were already claimed."

"So that's it, then?" Eirik asked. "You've found yourself a Dragonborn more apt to your ends, and now that you've found him, you throw me to the road like a pile of shite?"

"Oh, stop crying," Crixus returned, though Eirik was not weeping. "You already act like a b*tch overmuch, don't add weeping to it as well."

Eirik lunged at Crixus, but Delphine and Ragni suddenly leaped to their feet and dragged Eirik away, cursing and kicking at Crixus. With a smile, Crixus turned to Esbern and the other Blades.

"Take us to Whiterun," he said.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Since Crixus is supposed to be the Imperial characterfan-favorite, i threw in that comment about how nobody cares about the Sons of Skyrim [because apparently you don't]. I mean, every time i try to write interesting, semi-sympathetic characters for the Sons of Skyrim, i keep seeing that obnoxious Spongebob meme with the rainbow and imagining you readers going "nobody cares!")**

**(This is what i get for trying to introduce new characters to the story. Please review, though. That is the only thing that keeps me coming back to write and update any story with more chapters: the reviews.)**


	41. Many Years Too Soon

**(AN: Yay, reviews! The last few reviews i had were all to the tune of 'we don't care about the Sons of Skyrim, just bring back Aela and Serana!' And as for sub-plots, yeah, maybe there are quite a few. I want to make Thelgil a competent villain, not just an incompetent bad guy who falls to pieces when the villain shows up [you know, like all the villains on _Doctor Who_]. To that effect, i do not want him to divulge his plan to anyone, not even Elenwen. I also refuse to give him a tragic "omg, pity me because i'm so misunderstood" back-story that we've seen in SO many movies and books these days! [i'm looking at you, tom hiddleston Loki!]. But right now, none of those "many" sub-plots are very interesting. My brother even recommended ADDING more pointless sub-plots that deviate from the main story just for the sake of "being interesting": like Kirkbride-esque idiotic barbarian Nords living in the mountains who have never heard of the Empire or Talos or a grand heist held by the Thieves Guild to steal the Jagged Crown. Those add nothing to the narrative of the story, which is important!)  
><strong>

**(Okay, enough of that. If anyone is wondering about Crixus, he is exactly what all of my brother's insert characters have always been [in all two stories he's had an influence in, namely Magnus the Fallen Angel from _Death's Head_ and Crixus] Byronic heroes. At least someone realized that. Also, i always censor out b*tch because, well, for the same reason i censor out vain usage of El's name: personal preference. But yes, i will try to keep the language down a little bit more in this story than the last one.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Many Years Too Soon<br>**

Lydia paced nervously across the floor of Mistveil Keep. Five days had passed since her thane, Eirik the Dragonborn, had engaged Servius Crixus in battle in the streets of Riften. She had tried to keep track of them, but suddenly something or someone had shot both of them and they were dragged away into the shadows.

Now she stood among the Sons of Skyrim, pacing while they argued with the Companions. Neither of them had heard any news regarding the whereabouts of Eirik and they were now at an impasse. Half of them wanted to rescue Eirik, while the other half were more concerned about restoring and refurbishing Riften into a defensible fortress.

"It's as bad as Falkreath, almost," said Galmar, who sat on the eastern side of the table in the center of the hall. "If the Empire attack here, we will not be able to hold them off for long."

"If it were not for our Harbinger," Aela, who sat across from him, retorted. "You would not be where you are today."

"And no one regrets his absence more than we do," Perla, who sat at Galmar's right hand, added. "But we will lose all that we have fought to obtain if we abandon it all to search for one man."

"One man?" asked Ralof, who sat on the western side of the table, with the Companions and those of the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim who were of a different mind than those across from them. "He is the Dragonborn!"

"So was Ulfric," added Svenn. "And where are they now?"

"We don't need no Dragonborn," Halldor, who sat with those on the east side of the hall, added.

"Where would we be without him?" asked Angrim. "Who was it who rescued us from Windhelm?"

"He needed quite a bit of encouragement," Galmar grumbled.

"It would be strategically unsound," Yrsarald added. "To abandon the work we have put into Riften."

"Then why are we bickering?" asked Vilkas. "Let those who wish to use this time to their tactical advantage stay in Riften to build defenses, and let those who want to search for Eirik come with us to seek for him."

"We cannot afford to waste _any_one on any other task than to hold our position," Galmar retorted. "News will have reached the Imperial loyalist holds of the fall of Falkreath and Riften by now and they will be wanting their revenge. And, of course, there _is_ the matter of the Jagged Crown."

The whole room fell silent when the words escaped Galmar's lips.

"It was recovered on the twenty-fifth of Last Seed last year," said Galmar. "But now there are rumors trickling down from Windhelm that it has been missing from the hoard of the Jarl of Windhelm. Those damn elves are defiling the sacred crown of the High Kings of Skyrim!"

"What does that have to do with us?" asked Farkas.

"Our land is in peril," Galmar said. "It would be wrong to further jeopardize our position for the sake of finding one man!"

"I think," Maldor, who grew up in Riften, spoke up. "It would not be wise to invest too much in rebuilding the defenses. We don't want to awake the curse."

Ria chuckled. "There's no curse here."

"That's what you say," Maldor returned. "But you don't know the tales of Cross-Daggers the Cruel!"

"Enough!" Lydia shouted. Once again all eyes turned to one person in the room.

"If you all want to keep bickering," she said. "Then be my guest. I'm going to go looking for my thane, even if I have to go it alone."

"Do you know where to start looking for him?" asked Vilkas.

"No," Lydia returned. "But I will start at the first place I find and I won't stop looking for him until I find him."

Aela rose from the table, a smile on her face. "You do yourself a great honor, Lydia," she said.

"Truly you are a tribute to your station as huscarl," added Vilkas, rising up. "And, by Shor, we have as much to go on for the search of Mjoll the Lioness."

"We go with you," Farkas said.

As Lydia saw the Companions rise up to support her decision, she smiled. At once she dismissed herself and ran to the room she shared with Eirik in Mistveil Keep, preparing her gear for a long journey. As she walked into the room, she saw a dark shadow leaning against the wall.

"So he's missing again?" Serana asked.

"You heard that?" she returned.

"I had to stay in here just to avoid the smell," Serana said. "It's been a long time since I last tasted blood, I didn't know if I could handle myself among so many warm, blood-filled bodies."

Lydia eyed Serana suspiciously. Though she did not have the same scruples over Serana that Mjoll had had, she wondered how Eirik could trust someone who, it appeared, could just as easily turn on him if the fit overtook her.

"Anyway," Serana added, as though her previous statement had been completely ordinary and not threatening. "If you're looking for Eirik, I might have a hint at where he might have gone."

"Why didn't you say anything in there?" Lydia asked, turning to the vampire woman.

"Well, I _am_ a vampire," Serana answered. "And a conjurer, neither of which are accepted well around here. I had hoped a consensus would be reached."

"It has," Lydia returned. "The Companions and I are going to go looking for Eirik."

"_Wargs_," Serana muttered under her breath. "Still, it's for a good cause, rescuing Eirik. I want to help."

"How?"

"I was lurking in the shadows during the storm," said Serana. "And I think I might know where he's been taken."

* * *

><p>"Tell me something," Crixus asked. "Do you ever get tired of being captured?"<p>

The two of them were galloping eastwards. Due to the conditions in Skyrim, they could not openly ride with Crixus to Whiterun. Therefore, they had escorted Eirik and Crixus to the south-eastern borders of the Reach. They left them clad in the gear they had found them in but had not returned their weapons. While Eirik was upset about this, Crixus did not make an argument and instead decided to lead Eirik to Whiterun.

"What are you on about this time?" Eirik groaned.

"From what I've heard tell from my sources," Crixus said. "You get your arse landed in prison quite a bit. Don't you ever get tired of being captured?"

"What do _you_ think?" Eirik grimly asked.

"I don't know," Crixus returned. "You seem to be captured very often, maybe you like being dominated and conquered."

"Just wait until I get my hands on a weapon," Eirik glowered.

There was silence between them once again. They rode on, the dry, arid crags of the Reach being replaced by oceans of green, verdant grasslands. The hold of Whiterun was in the later months of spring and all was green and in bloom. An eagle soared overheard while, near at hand, they heard a howl in the mountains to their right.

"Why are we going this way?" Eirik asked.

"What do you mean?" Crixus returned.

"I've been this way before," Eirik said. "The shortest way to Whiterun is over the plains by way of Rorikstead."

"I don't feel right about being spotted on the plains of Whiterun," Crixus returned. "Black Moor still stands, or so I've heard. There are likely eyes over there."

"But there are people in the mountains," Eirik said, looking warily towards the Jerall Mountains looming nearby.

"Afraid of the mountains, are you?" chuckled Crixus. "I crossed them last year with a green recruit."

"My father always told me there were tribes of nomads living in the mountains," Eirik said.

"Never heard of 'em," Crixus returned.

"I haven't seen them either," Eirik added.

"Then how do you know they exist?"

"There are always stories," Eirik said. "A farmer's goat, a sheep, a cow disappears once a month or so, someplace far away from those Dwemer ruins."

"Just like you Nords," Crixus said. "Blame the Falmer living in the Dwemer ruins for all your problems."

"Sometimes its more than just that," said Eirik. "A courier, somebody's son or daughter, might disappear from the road or a familiar grove and never be seen again."

"More Nordic superstition," Crixus chuckled. "Just for that, I say we go towards those mountains. Ride along their edges, just so that we're not noticed out in the open."

"You live to torment me, don't you?" Eirik asked.

"Of course," Crixus returned.

* * *

><p>They were nearing the edge of the wooded area that formed the border of the holds of Falkreath and Whiterun. This land was very different in Eirik's mind, for he had fought here against as a dragon in the dead of night, with nothing but the light of an Imperial border patrol to light his way to sudden death. In the light of day, it seemed very foreboding, even clear of fog and mist. Shadows clung beneath the eaves of those trees and, looking there, Eirik thought that he saw shapes moving underneath the trees.<p>

When night finally came, they rested on the edge of the forest, lighting no fires. Crixus kept watch while Eirik drifted into an uneasy sleep. He could hear calls in the darkening woods, the sounds of beasts and other wild things. He felt alone, forlorn like a leaf picked up by the wind and blown far away from the forest. Mjoll was gone, the Sons of Skyrim were gone, and he was once more forced to be dragged alongside Crixus. More than once he had entertained the thought of riding off to Riften or to leave Crixus all-together and look for Mjoll, but there was another reason he wanted to go with Crixus to Whiterun: he needed to show him what had become of the place with the Empire's victory. For what reason he didn't know, since it seemed that Crixus would ignore anything he saw that didn't fit into his personal beliefs (or lack thereof).

The last thing Eirik saw before his eyes finally closed were the stars glistening through the trees to the south; it was as close as he had come to the gods since his venture into Sovngarde.

His rest was disturbed by many dreams and visions. In one he was in a dark field, when suddenly a pale light like the morning of a thousand suns, burst out from the mountains to the east. He heard the voice of Azura calling him onward, urging him to do as she had commanded him through his servant. It filled him with loathing: while this daedra had been helpful in the past, he did not wish to relinquish his freedom to them. He would _not_ be a servant of the daedra! Then the vision changed and he found himself in a dark haze, with Crixus standing before him, a smug smile on his face.

"You lied to me!" he heard himself say beyond his control.

"I think you should have learned it by now," Crixus retorted. "I lie, and its your damn fault for thinking I was obligated to tell you the truth."

"And its not your fault," he asked. "For not telling the truth?"

"Who said I have to tell anybody the truth?" Crixus laughed.

Once again the vision faded and Eirik saw now Mjoll the Lioness, standing before him as he had remembered her: standing on the edge of the dock at Dawnstar. He reached out to take her hand, but it passed through as though it had been a mist. Looking towards Mjoll, he saw a single pearly tear streak down her face. He reached out again as though he would comfort her, but then he awoke out of his sleep, finding himself under the night sky.

Darkness closed about him again. He knew why the vision had been a sad one. He had turned his back on Mjoll, and there was no one left to blame his bitterness upon but himself. In that moment he swore that he would find a way to rescue Mjoll. He would start in Whiterun: Brynjolf had mentioned something about the one who may have kidnapped her frequenting Whiterun. Perhaps he would receive some news there. Therefore he resolved to swallow his pride and follow Crixus to Whiterun: not to throw caution to the wind and convince an opinionated man of his folly, but to learn something of the whereabouts of his beloved.

* * *

><p>Ondolemar was displeased at being summoned to the embassy on such short notice. The new ambassador and high justicar was much more demanding, especially of those under him. Which was not to say that Ondolemar considered himself 'under' anyone, at least anyone who wasn't an Altmer like himself. Nevertheless, he was summoned to the embassy to speak to the high justicar as soon as possible.<p>

At length the door to the ambassador's study opened and Ambassador Thelgil walked into the room. Ondolemar saluted him in the Imperial fashion: right fist pounded against left breast then held out with palm open.

"Is this slave gesture necessary?" Ondolemar asked.

"You forget, Ondolemar," Thelgil said in his slow, hypnotic voice. "Both the Reman and Septim empires were founded on stolen knowledge and customs, stolen from _our_ people. It is only right that we take back what is ours, don't you agree?"

"I do agree," said Ondolemar in return. "Which is why I have to ask about my latest assignment."

"Make it quick," Thelgil said. "Time is of the essence. Every moment _you_ waste with talking, our opportunity evades our grasp."

"With Elenwen," Ondolemar stated. "Our mission was plain: sow unrest. Why then was I instructed to divert justicars and agents from hunting these Talos-worshiping savages and aid some half-elf mongrel in taking Markarth?"

"I have calculated the Mad Men of the Reach into my plans," said Thelgil in reply. "Their hatred of the Nord people almost rivals that of the Dunmer. Madanach was essential. Is that not enough to placate your worries?"

"Hardly," Ondolemar returned.

"That will have to suffice," said Thelgil. "I am reassigning you and your agents from the search for Auri-El's bow."

"Why?" asked Ondolemar, anger rising in his voice. "With the Bow in our grasp..."

"I know where the Bow is," Thelgil said. "And it is not in the Chantry of Auri-El. Soon it _will_ be in our grasp, but I have a new task for you, my friend." The phrase 'my friend' was used loosely, with Thelgil exuding the air of a haughty lord extending _noblesse oblige_ to one far below his rank.

"And what is that?" asked Ondolemar, his interest piqued.

"The time has come," Thelgil returned. "Arannelya is running interference for us in Hammerfell, keeping the East Empire Trading Co. and the Imperial fleet unaware of our actions in Skyrim. And with the Sons of Skyrim so dutifully severing the roads south into Cyrodiil, our time to act is now."

"D-Do you know how long that would take?" Ondolemar stammered in surprise. "Just tracking down all of my field agents and reassigning them like that, they wouldn't even be ready in three days!"

"If you cannot do this, 'friend,'" Thelgil returned, using the word 'friend' venomously. "Then I will find another agent who _will_."

Ondolemar, who had been standing throughout the ordeal, sat down at this news. He had heard the rumors that Thelgil was especially zealous, but even among the Thalmor he seemed to be overstepping his boundaries. Dissension was what they were trying to bring to the _Empire_, not to themselves. Surely Thelgil knew this, why then was he behaving as though he were a king?

"Do you even know why we're here in Skyrim?" asked Ondolemar.

"I do," he said calmly, glancing down at the seated Ondolemar. "And we are _this_ close to achieving our goal!" He held up his fingers, a hair's breadth from each other. "Shall your name go down as the one who impeded our reunion with _our_ ancestors? We ruined and exiled Rynandor the Bold, we _will_ ruin you if you stand in our way."

Ondolemar sighed. The threat that Thelgil had made was very real. Rynandor had been one of Summerset Isles' greatest heroes during the Oblivion Crisis. When he publicly stated that the Thalmor's sole involvement in ending the Oblivion Crisis was either a lie or not nearly as significant as had been exaggerated, he was truly ruined. Baseless accusations of treason were formed with 'evidence' to prove it, rumors of deviant magical and sexual behavior with children began to rise until the public consensus had him locked away in his ivory tower. The mountain of 'witnesses' and 'proofs' being fabricated on a daily basis soon made Rynandor's name to stink in the nostrils of everyone on Alinor until he was denounced as a traitor, stripped of his rank, titles and lands and forced into exile to Tamriel.

Ondolemar knew all of this: the Thalmor wielded great power both on Alinor and here on Tamriel. As Ambassador, Thelgil had the command of every Thalmor agent and justicar in Skyrim, the land in which Ondolemar found himself. If he left or chose to disobey him, he knew that it would be only a matter of time before Thelgil turned his agents on _him_.

"What do you have in mind?" he finally sighed wearily.

"Eldawyn has informed me," Thelgil returned. "That Whiterun will not be an issue. I will be sending you to the Pale to insure that it doesn't become a problem. Leave the rest to me."

* * *

><p>The day dawned again and Eirik and Crixus were back on their horses and galloping eastward. Eirik made no comments or any attempts to start conversation. The dreams of the night before left him feeling empty and forlorn and rotten. He had allowed the world to sweep him up and tear him away from the one thing that should have mattered the most for him.<p>

They rode all through the day, crossing the green seas of the plains of Whiterun swiftly under the hooves of their horses. The skies were clear and the wind rushing against their faces as they rode was cool. Even Crixus could not resist wearing a smile on his face at the lovely weather: for in Cyrodiil, this was the idyllic weather of most of the seasons.

Near the mid-afternoon, which was much longer due to the end of spring and the onset of summer, they arrived at the bottom of the hill of Whiterun. Here Crixus dismounted from his horse and removed his black cloak and hood from off his shoulders.

"Here," he said. "Put this on."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Last time I looked," Crixus returned. "You're an outlaw in Whiterun hold. Would be better to go in quietly rather than rush in, sword a-swinging, shouting your arrival at the top of your lungs and getting _me_ shot in the arse!"

Eirik reluctantly wore the cloak and hood. The cloak was made for someone shorter than him, but the hood obscured his face enough for the moment. Once they were arrayed thus, they checked their horses in at the stables and made their way up towards the gate of Whiterun. Suddenly Eirik felt Crixus come to a halt nearby.

"No," he heard him mutter quietly. "Not this, not now."

Turning to his right, Eirik saw Crixus gazing up with horror in his eyes. Looking there as well, he saw the gates of Whiterun, but they were much different than he remembered. Gone were the yellow banners of Whiterun, adorned with the emblem of the horse: in their places was the black, gold-trimmed banners of the Third Aldmeri Dominion. Hanging from the arch of the gates of Whiterun were many bodies, their stench filling the air beneath them under which all visitors and citizens of Whiterun, including Eirik and Crixus, must needs smell.

Both of them froze where they stood under the gate of Whiterun, realizing all too late that their worst nightmares were now coming true.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: As you saw in the first author's note, one of the suggested ideas was a tribe of barbaric mountain people. They were essentially more barbaric than the Skaal, if you can imagine that. I really did not want to write it because it was shooting my argument in the foot and proving Crixus right and my heart was not into it. Also because while my brother suggested that these barbarians be "Skaal-inspired", what he really meant was to follow Kirkbride's image of having Nord tribes who were so stupid, they have no clue as to who Tiber Septim or the Empire is because, according to him, Michael Kirkbride had all the interesting ideas in his precious little <em>Morrowind<em>)  
><strong>

**(I'm sorry, i just don't do daedric quests in my story. I have to keep the story focused and, especially in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, the focus tended to drift way too many times and it makes the story hard to follow. That's why i don't do daedric quests in my story because it breaks the narrative to say "well, the Empire and the Thalmor aren't really that big of a threat, so i'm going to spend a few days fetching and delivering x-things for x-daedric prince for phat lewts!" I mean, already i feel [rightly, due to the reviews] like the peril of the story is lost on the audience.)  
><strong>


	42. Deference

**(AN: I had initially intended this to be published later on, but since that seemed to be a problem with some of you readers, i felt that i'd push it ahead.)**

**(So far my readers have been unaware of Michael Kirkbride or _Morrowind_, the third Elder Scrolls game in the series, but i see that a Kirkbride fan has found my little saga. I've played _Morrowind_, _Oblivion_ and _Skyrim_ and the last game was the only one that captured my interest. That is the first reason i don't find _Morrowind_, which is said to have been either heavily influenced or single-handedly created by Kirkbride, all that interesting. Also, _C0DA_. I read it and, of the modern philosophical pseudo-science/acronym-filled mess of it, i discerned that, in Kirkbride's mind, only the Dunmer are worthy of consideration. He has Tamriel a post-apocalyptic wasteland with only the Dunmer and the Khajiit having survived: that means ALL the other races, including the much-beloved Argonians and the racist Altmer as well as the Nords and the Redguards, are dead because "fuck it." [Kirkbride's own words]. Also the only human deity is considered a virus and Kirkbride hates Tolkien. Those four reasons are enough for me.)**

**(Okay, enough ranting. Onto the good stuff!)**

* * *

><p><strong>Deference<br>**

Lucia did not spend all of her time with Mjoll. After the latest incident, Tarvis began to wonder if there was some kind of confederacy between them. To that end, he decided that he would instead have Lucia spend time with _him_. She seemed to be enjoying herself, though she was always scared by the red-eyed glare that Mo'Raj gave to her whenever he was in the room.

"Don't be afraid, my dear," Tarvis had said. "He won't hurt you, he just wants to be your friend."

And so the days wore on, with little Lucia sleeping by herself, spending few moments with Tarvis and even fewer with Mjoll. During that time, a thought began to stir in Lucia's young mind about the differences between her Mama and papa. When she was with Mama, she had the distinct feeling that she tolerated no bad behavior such as theft or lying, something she herself had done while living with Brenuin, and yet was still very kind and forgiving. On the other hand, papa had no qualms about anything she did: in his eyes, she was free to do as she wished and he would not stop her. While this made her very happy, she always seemed to be coming back to Mama for answers about questions of right and wrong. Also while papa could not stop talking about how much he loved Mama - who never said much about him - if Lucia brought up Mama's captivity, he would swiftly change the subject.

Thus it happened, one day in Second Seed, that Lucia was about the cave, wandering about and enjoying the cool shelter from the hot mid-day sun. The main cavern, from which both Mama and papa's rooms led, was usually populated by several armed men whose very presence scared Lucia. They were a varied lot - some of them tall Nords with braided hair and long beards, others were black-eyed wood elves, short and small with bows on their backs, some were the olive-skinned people of Cyrodiil and there was at least one bald dark elf - but whenever Lucia noticed them looking at her, most of them gave her the same taunting glares that she received from Mo'Raj.

Quickly she fled down a dark tunnel, hoping that they had not seen her. As she looked around, she saw, in the dim light of torches on both the right and left hand sides of the tunnel, that this tunnel was the one that led to papa's room: to the right she saw the passage leading to his room, from whence funny smells were wafting through the dense air. But further on she saw another room into which she had not gone. Curiosity got the best of her and she tip-toed down the tunnel and turned left into the new room.

It appeared to be nothing more than a storage room, with barrels and crates deposited here and there. There were also a few weapons lying against the cave wall or hanging up on racks or bound in cloth. But there was one weapon, a sword that was longer than she was tall, that caught her attention. During their many talks, Mama had told her about her special sword Grimsever, which had been with her on all her adventures and which the one she called Eirik had reforged for her.

_It was a beautiful thing_, she had said. _A glass long-sword almost as long as I am tall. The sword wasn't really made of glass, but the malachite was refined so that it looked and shone like glass. The hilt was made of gold and upon it was an ancient blessing of the North Wind_.

Lucia remembered how Mama had also said that she felt invincible whenever she was wielding Grimsever. A strange curiosity came over her to touch the blade and give it a swing. Perhaps just holding it would make her stronger. Her little hands reached up onto the pile of crates and gripped the hilt of the sword. It was cold, like touching an icicle in the depths of winter; it was even colder than the cool of the cave tunnels. With a heave, she dragged the large sword backwards, pulling it off the crates. It was heavier than she thought it was and when it fell off the crates, it came down upon her, pinning her underneath it. She yelped suddenly, but did not cry out or scream. She was not hurt, only sore from falling back onto the stone floor and being pinned under such a large sword.

Just then papa appeared in the doorway. Without another word, he lifted the large sword off her with both hands and placed it back on the crates. Lucia noticed that papa was straining to lift it, though it surprised her just how strong he was that he could lift it at all.

"Come with me, my dear," papa said, turning to her.

Lucia got up, dusted off her little green dress, and followed papa into his room. It was a cramped room with a single blanket lying upon straw at one end, and a table and chair at the other end of the cave. Sitting upon the table were several bottles, out of one of them rose steam or smoke or something that smelled like mountain mints that grew blue flowers. Lying near the table were several larger glass bottles, all of them stuffed with strange things she had never seen before: dried roots, fine flesh-colored dust, moth wings, fireflies, dried flowers, mushrooms, leaves, a bottle of eye-balls and something that looked like a heart that was beating slightly within its jar.

"Are you mad at me, papa?" Lucia asked.

"Not at all," he replied. "You are curious, that is only natural. But I must ask you not to go there again."

"Why not, papa?"

"You will know when you are older," he returned.

"Why can't I know now?"

"You would not understand," papa replied. "You couldn't possibly understand, you're too young."

Lucia hung her head and turned towards the entrance to leave, but papa called back for her.

"Please stay here a while, will you?" he asked. "I have something I'd like you to give to your Mother when you leave. Have a seat, it shouldn't take too long."

Lucia sat down by the straw bed, looking at papa while he eyed the clay mortar into which he was grinding things with a wooden pestle.

"Are you angry with Mama?" Lucia finally asked.

"No, of course not!" papa chuckled. "I love your Mother."

"It is because she has a baby in her..."

"Look," papa interrupted. "There will be a time for me to tell you everything. But that time is not now. Just trust me: papa has everything under control."

Silence followed, during which papa Tarvis continued grinding things in the mortar, then dumped the contents into a glass jar with a round bottom. A small flame sprouted beneath it and steam rose from the jar.

"Do you love Mama?" Lucia asked again.

"Why, yes, I do!" papa said, turning around to face her. "I love your Mother, and she loves me too."

"Then why were you two fighting about..."

"Look, I promise you," he returned. "When the time is right, I will tell you everything. But there are some things that need to just be left alone and this is one of those things."

Once again papa had answered her inquiry with the same thing: later. Though she was neither very educated nor dim-witted, she knew enough to know that papa was ignoring her question. It made her wonder that if all was well as he said it was, why was he refusing to answer her questions?

"May I ask you something, Lucia?"

"Sure, papa."

"You and Mama spend a lot of time together," he said. "What do you two talk about?"

"Oh, lots of things," Lucia replied. "She usually has things to talk about, like all the exciting places she's been to. I think she's been everywhere! She also talks about Eirik and Aerin and all the bad people in Riften she has to fight every day..."

"She talks about _him_?" papa asked, his voice sad.

"Yes," Lucia returned. "Is something wrong, papa?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Please, go on."

"I want to be an adventurer when I grow up!" Lucia returned. "I want to be big and strong like Mama and have a sword as big as hers and go visit at the fun places she's been to!"

"Yes," replied papa. "And you'll be smart and clever like papa too."

"That was Mama's sword in that room over there," Lucia said, gesturing back to the hallway. "She says she feels helpless without it. Why don't you let Mama have her sword?"

"Listen!" papa replied, his voice raising slightly. "I can't tell you that right now. Maybe one day when you're older and you'll be able to understand this, I'll tell you then. But right now, it's something that just _has_ to be. Trust me."

Lucia hung her head at his retort, feeling that she had done something wrong. Three times now he had given her the same answer: even an idiot could guess that papa was up to something. She waited for a response or some kind of comfort, but instead she saw that he was now rising from his seat, pouring something from the glass bottle into a wooden cup.

"There we are!" he said, a smile on his face. "Lucia, I want you to take this and give it to your Mother to drink."

"What is it?" she asked, as he handed her the cup.

"It's tea," he returned. "It will make her feel better. Now go on, give it to her."

"But what about Mo'Raj?" Lucia asked.

"You need to get over that already," papa replied. "He doesn't want to hurt you." Lucia pursed her lips and looked up at papa, after which he sighed and then knelt down to her eye level.

"If it will make you happy, I'll take you to Mommy, okay?"

Lucia nodded, then followed as papa led the way out of his room and down the tunnels of the cave. They said nothing to each other and there was no sign of Mo'Raj to speak of, but something else was puzzling Lucia. The 'tea' that papa gave her smelled very strong and, while she had no reason not to trust papa, there was something else in there than just mountain mint. The priestess of the temple in Whiterun would sometimes make tea for themselves, she had seen it once or twice. They didn't have to make them at a table like the one papa had in his room: in fact, she had seen a table like that one in Arcadia's Cauldron once when Brenuin had her steal something for the rattles.

At last they found Mama's room. She was lying on her side, seemingly asleep. As they were entering, she seemed to wake up and turn slowly towards them as best she could with hands and feet bound.

"Did you sleep well, my love?" papa asked.

Mama nodded, but said nothing yet.

"I've brought you something, my dear," papa said, gesturing to Lucia. Realizing that she was being called, she walked up towards Mama, holding the cup in her hands. "It's an herbal tea, it will help you feel better. Little Lucia will help you drink it."

Lucia walked towards Mama, the cup in her hands, but Mama looked at her and gently shook her head, causing Lucia to pause for a moment. Mama then turned to papa and asked: "Is this really necessary?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I can smell that's the same potion you tried to give me months ago," Mama returned. "Why are you bringing Lucia into this?"

"Lucia, go outside into the tunnel," said papa. "Papa needs to have a word with Mama."

"You're not going to fight again, are you?" Lucia asked.

"No, of course we're not," papa replied. "Here, let me have the cup, and then you can go play in the tunnels."

Lucia made as though she would leave, but halted just at the mouth of the cave. She did not want to be left out in the dark again; something was going on between them and she wanted to know what.

"I've gone through a great deal," papa said. "To brew you this. You would feel better if you drank it."

"There's no need, dear," Mama returned.

Silence filled the cave. Lucia looked back, surprised that Mama had called papa 'dear.' It was not something she called him, not in the same way that she called her 'dear' or that papa called both of them 'dear.'

"What did you say?" papa, equally perplexed, asked.

"I said there's no need," said Mama. "If you love me, you will honor my decision."

"I can't be party to this!" papa returned. "He _hurt_ you and I won't let it go unpunished! If I did, I would only ever see _his_ face in that...that..._thing_ inside you!"

"That _thing_ is a child, no less than Lucia!" Mama replied.

"That doesn't matter!" papa said angrily.

"Please, don't do this!" Mama pleaded. "For me...please."

"For you?" asked papa. "Or for _him_? When are you going to admit that he doesn't love you? If he did, wouldn't he be looking for you now? Wouldn't he try to take you back from me? Love, the gods put you in my path because _we_ are meant to be together."

There was silence. Lucia peeped around the corner, seeing papa kneeling next to Mama. Neither of them moved until papa took the cup and rose to leave. She turned around, hiding herself when suddenly she heard Mama speak.

"One life for another...my love."

There was no sound from the three of them. Never before had Lucia heard Mama say those two words to papa. What had changed? Was it because of the baby? Just what exactly was in that 'tea' that papa was trying to give to her?

"What did you say?" papa asked in shock.

"You heard me...dear," said Mama. "You're right. I shouldn't hold out for him any longer. I accept."

"Wonderful!" papa exclaimed. "Oh, my love, you've made me one happy Argonia..."

"But..." Mama interrupted. "I will not drink that."

"Surely you must," papa replied. "You love me, you don't love him. You must see that that thing must come out now!"

"I'll give my life to you," said Mama. "If you promise not to hurt my child."

"Mjoll..."

"Please, do this for me!" said Mama. "If you really love me, you'll respect my wishes."

Once more silence filled the cave. Finally, papa sighed and she heard footsteps shuffling towards her, then the tall shadow of papa walking down the hallway with his tail swaying behind him. Once he was gone, she walked slowly back to Mama, who was now sitting with her back against the wall of the cave.

"Mama?" Lucia asked. "What..."

Mama winked, but said no words.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I won't give any explanations, those will have to come with the natural development of the story.)<br>**


	43. The Last Debate

**(AN: There is a moment in here which is Eirik being anti-Joffrey. [yes, i do mean Joffrey Lannister - he's no Baratheon! - not Grandmaster Jauffre of the Blades]. In the moment in question [GoT SPOILERS FOLLOW!], Joffrey is talking about how his mother and Sansa [aka. Westeros' Elisif] tell her to spare Ned Stark and then he's all "lol, but i'm not going to listen to them because fuck it, i won and i'm the king and i do what i want" - you-know-who would be proud of him - and kills Ned anyway.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Last Debate<strong>

"We're standing at the dawn of a whole new world!" the old crone proclaimed happily. "The age of aggression belonged to our past, to the false god Talos, to the murderous rogue Ulfric Stormcloak and to his band of ruffians. Now we will see a great change upon the Empire, who stand ready to welcome our elven allies in brotherhood and acceptance!"

Eirik recognized the one who spoke as one of the Battle-Borns, the matron of the family who was the mother of Idolaf and Jon. She was standing in the center of the market-place of the Plains District of Whiterun. All around her were people eager to listen to her while in the streets, people wandered about their business with heads held low. Eirik and Crixus were among the crowd and they paused to listen to what was being said.

"The time of old superstitions and old hatred is past!" said Bergritte to her captive audience. "The Empire has shown that it is ready to embrace new ideas and new faiths with its victory over the barbaric Stormcloaks, clinging obstinately to the ghosts of the past."

"How much did Eldawyn pay you to say those words?" Eirik heard a voice cry out. He saw Sinmir, the Nord who had been in the stocks on his last journey to Whiterun, cry out in retort.

"Guards!" Bergritte croaked in her shaky voice. At once Eirik saw four Imperial guards charge into the crowd towards Sinmir, who started running through the crowd away from the guards but towards them. As he passed them by, Eirik seized him by the arm and whispered into his ear.

"Go to Riften," he said. "Seek out the Sons of Skyrim."

Crixus pulled Eirik away as Sinmir disappeared into the crowd and the Imperial guards continued their pursuit of him. Bergritte Battle-Born, meanwhile, continued with her speech.

"We are the greatest family in all of Whiterun," she said. "Respected and wealthy. You know that the Battle-Borns would say nothing were it not true. Let _his_ kind hang with all the others on the arch of the city gates! Their time is done!"

"We lost good men in the war with the elves!" one of the people in the crowd spoke up. "Would you have us forget our kinsmen and kinswomen who died in the Great War?"

"Would you have me call the guards on _you_?" Bergritte muttered, then turned to the people. "Yes, there was a great war, as in the days of old. It was a most unfortunate war, one started over a mistake, a plague that has infected our faith and drawn devoted men and women away from the worship of the Eight: the heresy of Talos!"

Eirik turned aside, breaking through the throng of people, making his way towards the Wind District. Crixus followed after him, stopping before the boughs of the Gildergleam. Here Eirik paused when he saw, hanging from the pergola around the Gildergleam, five dirty skulls with yellow-stained white hair clinging to their skull-caps.

"So?" Eirik asked.

"So what?" Crixus returned.

"Where will you go to look for..."

"The Jarl's house, or hall or whatever that is over there," he gestured towards Dragonsreach. "He'll know where they've gone and then I'll give you what you want and send you on your way."

"And then what?" Eirik asked. "What about those bodies we saw hanging from the gates of Whiterun? What about those skulls hanging around the tree?"

"What of them?" Crixus asked in retort.

"Don't they deserve justice?"

"Justice? Bah!" Crixus snorted. "Your people should have known this was coming, what with the way you treat anyone who's not a Nord. For that, you have to repay all the races of Tamriel for all the evil that you've done to them over...say, as long as your misbegotten race lives to be a scourge on everyone else."

"How is _that_ just?" asked Eirik. "What if the tables were turned? What if it was the Empire..."

"The Empire does not make mistakes!" Crixus retorted.

"You know what I mean!" Eirik said. "What about your people, the Colovians, the Nibenese?"

"Nedic people are incapable of treating those who are different than them wrongly," Crixus replied. "We were once enslaved by the Ayleids, we know what it was like to be oppressed. Therefore we shall never oppress anyone ever again."

"Then where is the Empire, huh?" Eirik asked. "Why are they not redressing these injustices?"

"Injustices?" laughed Crixus. "Those people hanging at the gates and up here were Nords, they deserved nothing less. They were probably Stormcloak-sympathizers, elf-haters, brigands, murderers, bandits, thieves, general reprobates. And if they didn't do anything, then their deaths kept them from doing anything evil which, knowing you Nords, they would _definitely_ have gotten around to eventually."

Eirik laughed. "What's so funny?"

"You, just listen to yourself!" Eirik returned. "You say that your people are incapable of oppressing anyone or treating others wrongly who are different than you, and yet look at the shit that spews out of your mouth!"

"They're true, all of them," said Crixus with a smile. "It's not bigotry if it's the truth."

"What if the Dominion forced you to pay them back for all the elves who died at the Battle of the Red Ring?" Eirik asked.

"Like fuck we'd do it!" Crixus returned. "We're not going to pay reparations to anyone! Especially about something that happened twenty years ago."

"And yet you expect my people to pay for everything that happened in the Civil War?" Eirik asked.

"Wrong!" Crixus returned with a smile. "I don't expect you to pay reparations for everything that happened in the Civil War, no! I expect that you Nords pay reparations for everything your race of thieves and murderers have done since the very first Nord set foot on this land of the Snow Elves!"

Eirik's face was grim, but he did not respond in anger or frustration. There was no need: Crixus would bark if he kept silent, bark if he retorted and bark if he struck him. There was no winning with him. It seemed to Eirik that if Crixus saw with his own eyes an Imperial cohort raping a Nord woman, he would find some excuse to blame _her_,either by saying that she was a Nord and deserved it or that she was a Stormcloak sympathizer or an elf-hater and therefore deserved it. He would simply not see the Empire at fault for anything.

"You know," Eirik returned. "It's a good thing you refused to become Emperor. You'd do more to help the Dominion in a day than what Esbern blamed me of doing in only two and a half months."

"How so?" Crixus asked. "I'd abolish the Divines and tell you Nords to go fuck yourselves. Everyone wins, especially the Empire!"

"Do you have so little love for your own Empire," Eirik asked. "That you would kill her Emperor and then sit idly by while the Dominion come for her like a pack of hungry wolves?"

Now it was Crixus' turn to laugh. "Thank the lords of Oblivion, I can still piss you off! You know, nothing makes me happier than seeing you red in the face, trying to fight against your brutish nature to hit me like a troll's spawn."

"Do you believe in anything?" Eirik asked.

"I believe what my stepmother said about you people," Crixus retorted. "Because nothing I've seen since coming to this shite-hole of a country has proven her wrong. I also believe in telling people what they want to hear in order to gauge their reaction. I also believe that..." He laughed. "...you Nords really are that dumb!"

"What is it this time?"

"Oh, you really have deceived me," Crixus laughed. "And here I thought _I_ was the master liar! Underneath all your 'Skyrim for the Nords' bull-shite, you believe everything I say. You know that the Empire is the only thing keeping the Dominion at bay..."

"Look around us!" Eirik shouted. "How is _this_ keeping the Dominion at bay? Their banners adorn the walls, they have a justicar office within the city gates! Your Empire has failed!"

"Hey there, citizen!" a voice shouted. An Imperial guard approached them and it was just then that Eirik realized just how loud they were being. A small crowd had been attracted to their little row and more than a few guards as well.

"You're disturbing the peace, here," said the guard. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Hey, fuck off!" Crixus said, turning to the Imperial guard. "I'm with the Legion. And there's no law against talking."

"Oh, Imperial Legion, are you?" taunted the soldier. "Where's your armor, 'legate?'"

"You can't talk to me like that, Nord scum!" Crixus returned. "I bled for your ungrateful arse at the Siege of Bravil, the Battle of the Red Ring _and_ the Red Dog Pass."

"Look at my uniform, ass-hole!" the guard retorted. "See my sword? That means I can do whatever the fuck I want! Where's your sword, Cyrodilian?"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" Crixus retorted. "If it weren't for me, you'd all be dead or worse, slaves to these elves!"

"That's it, you're under arrest!" the guard said.

"What for?" Crixus asked.

"You spoke out against Eldawyn," said the guard. "She's in charge here. It's the gallows for you."

"I'm with the Legion!" Crixus retorted. "You can't do shite to me! Go ahead, try to fight me! I fucking dare you!"

Suddenly three Legion soldiers leaped at Crixus _en masse_. Though unarmed, he fought, punched, kicked and tried to squirm his way out from their arms. But they outnumbered him and soon he was down. Eirik watched as the guards began kicking him one by one, laughing and taunting him as he tried to defend himself.

"Not so tough now, are you, ass-hole?" one asked.

"Imperial Legion my foot!"

"What you gonna do now, milk-drinker?"

Standing on the side-lines, a cold chill fell over Eirik as he watched Crixus being beaten by the guards. He wanted to do nothing. It was no more than Crixus deserved after what he had done to him and what he had said about his people. A sickly satisfaction came to his heart as he saw what he believed to be justice being carried out against Servius Crixus. It would even be just, he thought, to let them take him and hang him. Stone-faced, he turned away, leaving Crixus to his fate...

But then he halted and looked back once again. For a moment he realized that this was what his people had been suffering under in the twenty years before the Stormcloak rebellion. Crixus may be an Imperial Colovian, but at that point he was nothing to the Imperial guards but another dissident, just as his people had been. But for them a hero had arisen from the east to save them, to do what had to be done though it turned all of Skyrim against him. At last Eirik understood what it meant to be the Bear of Eastmarch: it was not to be a war-monger, but a defender, as Vegard had defended the people of Eastmarch from the Ice-tribes and Ulfric from the Empire and their elvish masters.

"_Gol...Hah Dov!_" Eirik shouted, speaking words he had not spoken in many long months.

The Imperial guards suddenly staggered backwards when hit with Eirik's Thu'um. For a moment they turned to him and then suddenly halted. Eirik did not know what to do next, as he had not used that spell but once, to control a dragon. Was it the same with them? His mind went back to Solstheim and how the people were controlled by Miraak through this Thu'um. There he had used it to save the people of Solstheim, what would he use it for now?

"I am the Dragonborn," Eirik said. "And you will do as I say."

"You are the Dragonborn," said the guard who had thrown the first blow. "And we will do as you say."

"I had possessions in my house at Breezehome," Eirik said. "What has become of them? Speak now and answer me!"

"Jarl Hrongar removed your possessions to his personal hoard," answered the guard.

"Go now," Eirik said. "Go swiftly and bring my things to us now. You will then return to your posts but you will allow us to leave this city unmolested."

The Imperial guards took off towards Dragonsreach immediately, while Eirik turned to Crixus, lying on the ground with blood dripping from his nose.

"Tell me something," Eirik said, mirroring the words Crixus had asked on the way hither. "Do you ever get tired of being an ass?"

"Never," Crixus returned, wiping blood away from his lips.

"Well, you _are_ in Skyrim," Eirik said, offering Crixus his hand. "You would do well to not insult every Nord you see."

"You sound like Torgrim," Crixus chuckled, then pushed himself up without taking Eirik's hand. "So, what's the plan? I see you obviously have enough brains not to Shout them to pieces like Ulfric Stormcloak. Now what?"

Eirik turned to the crowds, lingering back in stunned silence as Eirik spoke words of command to the Imperial guards. When he turned to them, they gasped and fell back, as though they expected him to Shout them into submission. Instead he stood grim-faced and gazed at them all one by one. None could hold his gaze for long.

"I was chased out of this city," Eirik said. "A mob attacked me in Riverwood, a city of this hold, for the sole purpose that I have defied the Empire and their subservience to the Dominion. Now I, the Dragonborn, have returned..." The people gasped, fearing that some great retribution would follow. Perhaps the Dragonborn, angry at being driven out and attacked by mobs, would make them all his slaves or burn their city down with his voice. They quivered in fear at what might happen next.

"Lucky for you...I have had my share of vengeance. And I will leave you to be if you will provide me with one thing I want and only one thing: where can I find the Argonian called Tarvis?"

"He doesn't live in Whiterun!" old Bergritte Battle-Born cried. "Go assault someone else!"

"Be quiet, old woman!" cried a voice. "That's the Dragonborn you're insulting!"

"He's one of them Talos-worshiping heathens, ain't he?" asked Bergritte. "Let the guards take him!"

"Didn't you see what just happened?" a dark-haired Breton Eirik recognized as the general store shopkeeper, asked. "A few city guards won't stop him!"

"Please!" Eirik retorted. "I don't have long. Where can I find him?"

"I saw 'im!" a voice pipped up. Eirik saw the angry little Redguard girl Braith stepping forward from the crowds. Several voices whispered in amazement, but two Redguards, her parents Eirik guessed, whispered for her to come back to her.

"It's alright," said Braith. "I ain't afraid of 'im." She then turned to Eirik, looking up at him as though he were smaller than a rabbit.

"My dad was employed by 'im," she said. "He left because something about a kidnapping."

Eirik's interest was piqued when he heard little Braith mention a kidnapping. Eirik knelt down, coming on an eye to eye level with Bratih. "Where did he go?"

"They went everywhere," said Braith. "But I heard something about a cave west of Rannveig's Fast, wherever that is. I forgot the name."

Eirik chuckled, remembering all the times when Braith had confronted him with nothing good or even helpful to say.

"Thank you," he said. He then rose to his feet and addressed the crowds. "I do not want rule or domination over you. Now that I have what I want, I will leave you in peace."

"Leave, then!" shouted Bergritte in her old, haggard voice. "And good riddance, heathen!"

The crowds slowly began to disperse, while Crixus, who had been watching from the sidelines, said nothing. At last Eirik turned to him and he lifted his eyebrows.

"You're going after an Argonian?" he asked. "Going to do what you Nords do best, I see."

"He stole Mjoll from me," Eirik returned. "I know you can't understand that, seeing as how you love no one but yourself."

"You know nothing, Eirik Bjornsson," Crixus said, shaking his head. "Truth be told, I _do_ know what it's like."

"You do?" Eirik asked cynically.

"Yes, I do. And perhaps if I help you get her back, maybe you'll stop being such an indecisive little sod and do what's right for your people?"

Moments later, the Imperial guards who were under Eirik's sway arrived, bearing arm-loads of gear. There he saw his broken and bent steel armor, the blade Dawnbreaker, a seax, a steel great-sword, Balgruuf the Greater's personal axe and one thing he had long since thought was missing, perhaps lost for good: the Bloodskal Blade, the Blade of the Nerevarine.

"Now this is good," Crixus said. "But where is that Bow? You know, the one from before..."

"It should _be_ here!" Eirik replied, then turned to the guards. "Tell me, where is the Bow?"

But at that moment, the effect of Eirik's Thu'um wore off. He was not Miraak the First and could not hold sway over them indefinitely as he had done. They realized what had happened, memories coming back of being told to do things, to act against their Jarl, against Eldawyn, to great personal danger. Now they saw someone with a sword in his hands as he spoke to them in commanding tones.

"Kill them!" shouted the head guard. "For the Empire!"

"Time to run!" Eirik shouted.

"Just like old times, eh?" Crixus chuckled, picking up Dawnbreaker and the seax and taking off after Eirik.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Ugh, finally we're getting somewhere! Perhaps now chapters will start flowing more easily out and this story will soon come to a [hopefully] good conclusion. Nothing much to complain about this chapter, I worked in some stuff from that one i exorcised and had Braith do something besides being a dick, as well as Eirik using a rare Shout.)<br>**

**(The Bow also will come into importance later on.)**


	44. Long Since Delayed

**(AN: Hmm, interesting comment there. I feel like i've already whipped all the recent events to death in the Eirik vs. Crixus dialogues to where there isn't much more i can say. Furthermore, Crixus has lately taken an interest in ancient Nordic history, mostly because of what happened at Saarthal [he's not the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, but he has been helping them in between his duties, as will appear in _Winterhold_, another spin-off likely to come out sometime in the near future]. This explains why he is interested in dismissing the old Nordic traditions and why he brings them back. Also, as _Skyrim_ has some relevant messages in it [more than _Oblivion_, i found], perhaps i am continuing in that strain as well in this story. Then again, like Ma'iq, perhaps Crixus is just a liar.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Long Since Delayed<strong>

Eirik and Crixus were on their horses and far away from Whiterun, galloping north-west as fast as they could. Eirik had been this way long ago with Lydia in tow on their way to the Dwemer ruin of Mzinchaleft, and he knew the name Braith had given him: Rannveig's Fast. It was an old Nordic ruin to the west of the Eldrisblod Mountains, said to be haunted by ghosts and farther up near the peak of the mountains, rumors held that a dragon had been spotted. He would have go searching for the cave in question, as there was no clear name or location given.

Here they halted for a moment, while Eirik looked about the land around them. His eyes found first the highest peak of Eldrisblod, making sure he saw no dragon upon the wing above them. Looking south, he saw a black speck on the horizon coming towards them.

"Look over there!" he said to Crixus, pointing towards the speck.

"The Whiterun guards are after us," said Crixus. "But they shouldn't be a problem. We still have a healthy lead over them and we're near the mountains."

"Then let's stop talking," Eirik said. "And start searching for the cave entrance."

"You know," Crixus began. "This is an interesting change for you. About a month ago, you were squatting in Riften, doing nothing but leading your little revolt against the Empire. Now you've decided to up and abandon them for your Nord b..."

"Yes, I have," Eirik said in reply. "This is what I _should_ have been doing since I returned to Skyrim."

"For once I agree with you," said Crixus. "I don't know, maybe being assaulted like that damaged my hearing. I'm not sure..."

"Let's just go," Eirik sighed, rolling his eyes. "We have a long search ahead of..."

In the skies above them there was a loud roar and a great shadow came swooping down from the highest peak of Eldrisblod. Eirik reached for his great-sword while he heard Crixus, holding Dawnbreaker and his seax in both hands, chuckle at the sight of the dragon.

"You were saying?"

* * *

><p>Little Lucia was creeping through the dark tunnels of the cave system, waiting for some sign of papa. Ever since the last incident, she became worried about Mama and the baby inside her. Something was wrong and she wished that she could save Mama from it. Once more she wished that she was a big strong warrior like Mama, able to wield a sword and cut a path through these bad people papa had befriended.<p>

But as she walked through the tunnels, she found them strangely deserted. Even Mo'Raj was not there, lurking in the shadows, to jump out and scare her. Even the main cave room was empty, with only the sound of the wind fluttering through them. At the farthest end of the main room was a tunnel down which she was never permitted to go: was that the way out of the cave? Part of her wondered if anyone was still here: she had not heard nor seen anyone else in the cave. Had they all gone? If so then where and how long would they be away?

_But they _will_ be back_, she told herself.

_Yes,_ a thought newly entered into her mind said. _And we will be gone from here._

_We?_ she mused. _Mama and I...leave here? But how?_

_You know how,_ it returned. _You saw weapons in that room, some of them large and some of them small enough for you to carry. Perhaps something that could cut those tough knots on Mama's hands and legs?_

Me? she thought. _Me rescue Mama? But I'm not that strong!_

_You're strong enough to rescue her,_ said the thought. _And a little strength is all she needs._

Suddenly Lucia came to the realization that her thoughts were right: she _was_ just strong enough to rescue Mama. Then, perhaps, they would be able to escape and run away, far away, until they could not be found. Then Mama would teach her how to be strong like she was.

Quickly she ran back through the caves, trying to remember where papa's room was. At last she found it then, turning left, she found the storage room where she had found Grimsever. It did not take her long to find something that suited her needs: a small greenish dagger with a hook at the top of the blade near the handle. With this in hand, she made her way back to Mama's room, where she saw that Mama was leaning against the wall, looking down at her swollen stomach.

"Mama!" she said when she appeared through the entrance.

"Hello, dear," said Mama with a smile. "How are you?"

Lucia walked closer, holding up the knife she had taken from the storage room.

"What are you going to do with that?" Mama asked.

"I'm gonna try and cut these ropes," Lucia said, kneeling down at Mama's feet and began dragging the blade across the ropes.

"Did Tarvis tell you to free me?" Mama asked. "Has he finally decided to release me?"

"We're getting out of here," Lucia said. "I think they're all gone."

"All of his thugs?" asked Mama. "Are you _sure_ there weren't any hiding where you couldn't see them?"

"I made sure," said Lucia with a smile as one rope came free.

"What about Grimsever?"

"I know where its at," she replied. "But it's too heavy to carry. I can take you there."

"And the way out, do you know that?"

"Maybe."

"Why are you helping me?" asked Mama. "Don't you want to stay with Tarvis?"

"I think he wants to hurt your baby," Lucia returned.

"I know," said Mama sorrowfully. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"It doesn't take no genius to figure out," Lucia replied. "That he's keeping you held here against your will."

"That's true," said Mama in reply.

"But if we get out of here," Lucia continued. "Will you teach me to be strong like you?"

"Of course," Mama smiled. At last the last rope was cut and Mama made a noise as Lucia ran over to her back.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mama sighed. "It just feels good to move my legs again. Hurry, cut my wrists free." Lucia went to work on the ropes around Mama's wrists. "But why now?"

"What do you mean?"

"We've been together for a while," said Mama. "Why did you wait until now to rescue me?"

"I think I heard papa say something," Lucia replied. "About leaving here soon. I know how to get around this place so well that if we move, it will take me too long to learn how to get out. And then..." She sniffled. "...then he might do something to hurt you!"

"It's alright, dear," Mama assured her. "Better late than never." The sound of a rope snapping free sounded from where Lucia was cutting the ropes. "You're rather handy with a knife."

"Brenuin taught me how to use one," Lucia replied. "He said it...might come in handy sometime."

Another rope snapped free, with only one more rope left. Lucia began cutting it, putting the weight of her little body behind it, until at last it broke free and the knife scratched the rocks below. Mama pulled her arms free, then turned around to Lucia and wrapped her arms around her. Lucia could hear that she was crying.

"What's wrong, Mama?" she asked.

"I don't know," she returned. "I'm just...so sorry that you lost your parents, that you were treated so unfairly by your relatives..."

"It's alright, Mama," Lucia replied. "I have you."

Mama nodded, then planted a kiss on Lucia's cheek. "Now help Mama get up."

She held out one hand to Lucia, then placed the other on the side of the cave wall. Though she had been well fed throughout her captivity, the lack of mobility made her joints ache with each movement. Furthermore, her large abdomen made moving at all, especially rising up from a lying and seated position, almost impossible. But she was strong from her many journeys, having once carried a Khajiit back to his family when he had been attacked by a wild senche. Slowly she pushed herself up until she could bend her knees and stand upon them.

"Give me a push from behind," she said to Lucia.

Moving up behind Mama, Lucia gave her a push as she pulled up against the rock wall to her left, rising unsteadily to her feet. Mama's hand came to rest on Lucia's shoulders and she felt a great weight being pushed upon her through those hands. She was still unsteady on her feet and weak from being kept down for a long while.

"Can you walk?" Lucia asked.

"Yes," Mama nodded. "I think so. You'll have to help Mama, dear. Take me to where you found Grimsever."

Slowly, with Mama's hands on her shoulders, Lucia led her to the entrance of the cave. Every step was slow, for the burden of support was a great one on little Lucia. At last, however, they arrived at the entrance to the tunnel leading out of Mama's room and the burden lessened as Mama supported herself with one hand on the cave wall. Now upon Lucia was the burden of leading Mama to the storage room: the main room was straight ahead, down a path that wound and turned several times, but papa's room was the right, then left, then two rights.

After the first right, she tried to take one of the torches from the niches in the cave wall, but it was too tightly held in place. Mama saw this and removed the torch herself, holding it aloft to provide them light as they went down the dark tunnel. Left they turned down a tunnel with a low roof which forced Mama to get down on her hands and knees and crawl through as best she could. When at last they turned right down the appropriate tunnel, it widened up and Lucia helped Mama back onto her feet.

It was now straight ahead and to the left to find their goal and they hastened their as quickly as they could. Once they were inside, Mama brightened up when she saw Grimsever lying there before her. Lucia was surprised at how, despite her condition, Mama could easily lift the heavy blade. She laughed and then, using the blade as a support, followed Lucia back the way they had come. Back through the narrow tunnel, then left and then right into the main cave room and then straight to the forbidden passage. Lucia went first, following the light of the torch which Mama had left at the end of the narrow tunnel, while Mama brought up the rear, crawling through with her sword in her hand.

As she came to the end of the tunnel, Mjoll saw that little Lucia was standing there, looking to the left in fright. She placed her hand on her shoulder as she arrived and almost fell when Lucia leaped with fright. Her left hand placed Grimsever point down to prop herself up onto her feet as she turned to see what had caused her to gaze so fearfully ahead.

"Well, ain't this a surprise?" asked a Nordic voice.

There were three men who looked like bandits, all of them armed, standing at the end of the tunnel. The cave was not as deserted as Lucia had said it was. But there was no turning back now: if they allowed themselves to be captured, they would be likely be separated and bound with chains _and_ moved to a different cave. Mjoll also knew that there was nothing else keeping Tarvis from harming her baby except his word, which she worried would break if he knew that she had tried to escape.

"Stand back, dear," she said to Lucia as she took Grimsever with both hands. "Mother Lion has to protect her cubs."

* * *

><p>"<em>Du'ulnahvith fen kos dinok!<em>" roared the voice of the dragon as it circled overhead.

A gale of wind blew down upon Eirik and Crixus with each beat of the dragon's wings. The horses reared back in fright, knocking them off their backs. But they were both quick and knew how to fight dragons. Even with only a sword, Crixus was still a force to be reckoned with.

"_Yol...Toor Shul!_" roared the dragon.

A gout of fire burst from the mouth of the dragon, incinerating one of the horses as it fled madly from the dragon. Eirik drew out the Nerevarine's great-sword and, before the dragon could move its mouth towards him and the fire as well, he charged towards it, bringing the old blade down upon the dragon's neck. It bit through the dragon's scales, causing it to writhe in pain from the blow. Again Eirik swung, shattering through the scales once again and drawing black blood. The dragon craned its long neck around back towards Eirik, and he moved closer to the shoulder between the dragon's body and its wings. Its jaws could not catch him this close, nor would it try to burn itself.

Suddenly he saw Crixus, armed only with a short-sword, albeit a daedric weapon, and a seax, running towards the dragon. He ran up a large rock and dug the seax into the dragon's neck as he landed upon it. The dragon turned its head away from Eirik as it thrashed about, trying to remove the clinging, biting thing from off its neck. Meanwhile, Crixus was trying to run it aim a blow with Dawnbreaker at the dragon's eye as its head swung from side to side.

Seeing an opportunity, Eirik struck once again at the dragon's neck with the Bloodskal blade. Again and again he struck, eager to draw black blood once again. Hacking, however, did not seem to be doing it and he stepped back to prepare for a lunge, only to be reminded that he was still wearing Crixus' cloak as it impeded his steps backward and threw him down back first onto the ground. Still unarmored - his bent steel armor was in no condition to be used - he pushed himself back onto his feet and ran forward, thrusting his sword into the neck of the dragon.

There was a shout that was soon muffled by the roar of the dragon as it reared back in the throes of death. As it fell to the earth, something black-clad fell off it onto the turf as Eirik took a few steps back from the ruin of the dragon, bursting into flames before the might of the Dragonborn, its soul to be devoured. Suddenly he heard a loud oath sworn and saw Crixus rising up on the other side of the dragon's neck.

"You almost ran me through with that last blow!" Crixus shouted. "I swear, that sword was this close to my face!" He held up his thumb and middle finger a hair's breadth apart, giving Eirik his favorite pejorative gesture in the process.

"You're alive, aren't you?" Eirik asked.

"Not sure how long for," said Crixus, looking back south. "Those guards are almost upon us, thanks to this damn dragon."

The fires swept about them, filling them both with fiery energy the likes of which Eirik had not felt in a long time. Every wound seemed to vanish, every ache melted away and he felt invigorated and his depression and lethargy fade like mist before the rising of the sun.

"What did that dragon say?" Crixus asked.

"Can't you understand what they're saying?" Eirik retorted. "I recall _you_ were well able to read the Dragon tongue..."

"Yes, I know what he _said_," Crixus returned. "But what does it mean?"

"I'm not sure," Eirik replied. "I remember hearing those words before, but it was from a different dragon."

"A different dragon?" Crixus asked. "How do you know it wasn't this dragon?"

"This one was greenish," Eirik said. "The dragon that said those words before was coppery-red. I recall him flying south from the Throat of the World."

"Towards Cyrodiil?"

"I don't know," Eirik replied. "Why don't you ask Esbern? Him and the Blades seem to have taken a liking to you."

"Is this really necessary?" asked Crixus. "They're almost on us!"

Eirik threw back his head and laughed. "What's the matter? One dragon is no challenge for us but a small host is more than we can handle?"

Just then they saw the black speck come to a halt within shouting distance of them. Here they could not make out any discernible faces, but they did see that there were not as many of them as they had guessed. Seven horsemen were there and no other men or horsemen that they could see.

"Who rides hither?" Crixus called out. "You stand in our way."

"I would hate to be such a nuisance," a familiar voice cried out. Eirik immediately recognized the voice.

"Lydia?"

The horse at the lead of the company rode out and Eirik saw that it was indeed Lydia. She swiftly dismounted and threw her arms around Eirik's shoulders.

"Praise the gods we found you!" she exclaimed. "When you disappeared in Riften, we thought..." Then her eyes fell on Crixus. Straight away her countenance fell and she drew her sword.

"You!" she said. "Now you'll pay!"

"Wait!" Eirik stepped between Crixus and Lydia. "We've called a truce for now."

"But he betrayed you!" Lydia replied. "_Again_ I might add!"

"You know as little as he does," said Crixus, gesturing to Eirik.

"Then let me kill him for _me_!" Lydia asked.

"Later," Eirik said. "We're in haste. I might have a lead on where Mjoll is."

"You have?" Lydia asked, turning to Eirik.

"Yes," he said. "And I will need all of your help." He then looked back at those who still sat on their horses. "Who are those with you?"

"The Companions," she said. "They've chosen to come looking for you." She then leaned in and whispered to Eirik. "If it weren't for the Inner Circle and their skill with 'hunting', we never would have found you." She then turned to Crixus. "We also found your squire."

"Petruvius?" Crixus asked. "He's not my squire, he's with the Haafingar Imperial garrison."

"Why did you send him to me, dressed up as a knight, pretending to be you?" Eirik asked.

"I figured you'd be pissed at me for what happened at Dawnstar," Crixus returned. "And I was right. Also, I needed my little trick to work, so I clad him in armor that would keep him and his identity fully protected. I predicted that you'd rush out to fight him, allowing me to get the drop on you: which, I see, I was right. Also, he had something with him."

"What was that?" Eirik asked.

"Will you tell him," Crixus said, turning to Lydia. "Or shall I?"

"Once you disappeared," Lydia began. "We took him prisoner, questioned him about what happened to you. He told us nothing except to look inside the cart. Inside were all the things the Empire took from you after _he_ led us into his trap!" She turned to Crixus, pointing her sword at him.

"All things?" Eirik asked. "My dragon-bone armor? The Great-sword of the Skaal?"

Lydia nodded. "Yes, everything."

"Consider it a peace offering of sorts," Crixus added.

Eirik chuckled. "You magnificent bastard!"

* * *

><p>The company now rode west, following the Eldrisblod Mountains. Eirik rode on the back of Lydia's horse and, after calming his horse down from the terror of the dragon attack, Crixus was back on his horse. After arming himself in his dragon-bone armor (and returning Crixus' cloak to him), he felt invincible once again as he hadn't felt in a long, long while. Looking behind him he saw all the Companions assembled riding on horses behind them: Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, Hermir, Torvar and Ria. Only Thorald was unaccounted for. At the farthest end of the company rode Crixus next to the young Colovian knight on the cart, whose name was Petruvius; they had not stopped talking since they were reunited. At the back of the group, behind the cart, rode a lone rider clad all in black with a black hood over face and head.<p>

On and on they rode, searching diligently the cliff-sides of the mountains to their right for caves. They went on for a long while, pausing at every promising crack and crevice, until they came to the end of the mountain range. Here a path led up a platform of rock thrust out from the main body of the mountain as a shelf. Onto this wind-swept shelf they found a dark cave mouth lying in the side of the cliff.

"Orotheim," Aela said, dismounting from her horse by Eirik's side. "There's nothing here, just a bunch of bandits."

"She's right," Vilkas added. "We've been to this cave before. There were only bandits, and they said that they saw nothing."

"This is where I was led," Eirik said. "And this is where I will search."

"When _did_ you last search this cave?" asked Crixus.

"The thirteenth of First Seed," Vilkas returned.

"That's two months ago," replied Crixus. "What if they're on the move and you keep missing their hideout?"

"We've double-searched as well," Aela returned. "We should have seen something. Hircine's antlers, how can _any_one evade the Companions on the hunt?"

"How can we be sure your woman is here?" asked Farkas.

At this, the last rider, who had remained at the back of the company, hooded and cloaked and head bowed while Eirik changed into his old armor and girded himself with his sword, brought their horse, a black destrier, to the front of the company and dismounted. Leaning into the mouth of the cave, the figure sniffed the cool air at its mouth.

"There are several things in there," Eirik heard Serana's voice speak from below the hood. "Several Nords, two Colovians, three Orcs, a Bosmer, a Dunmer, several Redguards and..." She sniffed again. "Something or someone else, but I'm not entirely sure."

Eirik looked over at Lydia and whispered. "You brought Serana with you?"

"She insisted," Lydia returned.

"Who else should I be expecting?" he said in jest. "The Dawnguard? The Sons of Skyrim?"

"They chose to remain in Riften," Lydia returned. "And I haven't heard any from the Dawnguard."

Eirik sighed, then made his way over to where Serana stood at the mouth of the cave. "What about Mjoll? Is she in there?"

Serana sniffed the air. "I smell lavender, but that could just be alchemical ingredients. Wait..." She sniffed again, then a smile appeared on her face. "Yes, I can smell her."

"At last!" Eirik exclaimed, drawing forth the Great-sword of the Skaal as he prepared to wade into the mouth of the cave.

"Wait!" Crixus retorted. "You shouldn't just run in blindly like that."

"I've waited too long," Eirik said. "Made too many excuses. Mjoll _must_ be rescued!"

"Then use your head, if you can!" Crixus returned. "This is a bandit cave, and from what I know about the one you're after, he's got more than a few men on his side."

"Not really," Serana said. "There can't be more than twenty people in that cave by the smell."

"Exactly!" Crixus returned. "The rest of them will find out that their hideout has been discovered, show up and trap us in the cave. Then its either a quick death if they charge in here in force or a slow one if they decide to suffocate us with fires lit at the mouth of the cave."

"Then what do _you_ suggest?" Eirik retorted.

"Leave someone out here to guard the entrance," he said. "Keep watch for an ambush or something."

"He's right," Vilkas stated. "That cave is the best place for an ambush. I'll wait out here."

"Me too," added Farkas. "That cave might have spiders in it."

"Fine, then," Aela said, rolling her eyes. "We'll stay outside and guard the entrance of the cave." She then turned to Eirik. "Be careful in there, Harbinger. I don't entirely trust this one in the dark." She gestured to Serana, who hissed at her from beneath her hood.

"Petruvius," Crixus said, turning to the young man. "Stay with them."

"Yes, legate!" he replied.

"Are you coming, Lydia?" Eirik asked.

"Do you even have to ask?" she replied with a smile.

"Then let's go in," said Serana as she led the way into the darkened cave.

* * *

><p>The cave entrance was just wide enough for three to walk abreast. From the beaten down dirt floor before them, they guessed that this cave saw much activity. Serana walked forward first, conjuring a fire with her hand to shed light. Behind her walked Eirik, with the Great-sword of the Skaal in his hand, with Lydia, shield and sword, at his side. At the rear there stood Crixus, with the Dawnbreaker in his hands.<p>

Turning a corner to the left, the cave descended into total darkness, lit only by Serana's flame and, from the rear, a candlelight spell from Crixus. The light at the front wavered as Serana looked this way and that, trying to peer into the darkness.

"What do you see?" Eirik asked, his voice reverberating off the walls of the tunnel.

"Nothing," Serana returned. "Not even in the darkness. And yet..." She sniffed the air. "...I can smell something." She smelled again. "Not very familiar with that scent."

"It's invisible," Crixus said from the rear. "Marcurio told me about the College of Winterhold. The School of Illusion magicka allows the caster to become invisible." He scoffed. "Didn't expect to find a mage, did you?"

"Just how much do you know about this Tarvis character?" Eirik asked, turning to Crixus.

"He helped me when I infiltrated Windhelm," Crixus replied. "He's even helped the Empire during the past."

"As a battle-mage, I tro?" Eirik asked.

"Yeah," Crixus returned. "Does that frighten you? Does that fill your puny Nordic mind with fear, knowing that you'll be going up against one of _them_?"

"Leave him alone, Crixus," Serana called back. "There's nothing to fear from any sorcerer, not when you have me with you."

"Thank you, Serana," Eirik returned.

The tunnel went further downwards, until the roof widened and they saw, just up ahead in the light of Crixus' candlelight spell, a raised platform made of wood that was bordered by a ramp going up into a higher portion of the cave. There seemed to be nobody around, and so they quietly crept forward, Serana leading the way. Suddenly a short arrow came out of nowhere, striking Serana in the chest and extinguishing the flame in her hand. Lydia and Crixus charged towards the direction they saw the arrow come from, while Eirik examined Serana.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She shook her head, a pained expression on her face, but said nothing.

"Let me..." Eirik began, reaching for the arrow in her chest.

"Don't touch it," Serana gasped. "It's lodged...close to my heart. One wrong move...and I'm dead."

Crixus and Lydia came back from underneath the wooden walkway. They had not found anything underneath there, but a cross-bow which seemed to have been dropped in haste. There was no sign of anyone else in the room besides the four of them.

"Will you be alright?" Eirik asked.

"Yeah," Serana replied. "If I can just...agh! Get this damn...bolt out of me!" She leaned against the cave wall, slowly bringing herself down to a sitting position. "You go on ahead. I'll be right along."

"But what if it comes back for you?" Eirik asked.

"There's nothing there," Lydia said. "Crixus and I checked."

"Nothing we can see, at least," Crixus added.

"Just go," Serana said. "I need a moment to calm down...I need steady hands to do this. Don't worry about me. I can crush anyone's head in with my...agh, shite! With my hands! Oh, ancestors, it stings! Right in the..."

"Take care," Eirik interrupted. "We'll be back for you as soon as we've found Mjoll."

Serana nodded. The three of them walked up the ramp leading to the top of the wooden platform, and saw that, at the top, it terminated into a tunnel that dove into the side of the mountain. With one look back at Serana, Eirik made his way into the cave, following Crixus' conjured ball of light.

The tunnel wound about and continued on until suddenly there was a shout and Eirik saw a large Orc running towards him, a mace in his hand. With little room to swing, Eirik thrust his great-sword forward, running the Orc through the chest. Lydia then swung at something else that came rushing towards them. The Orc struggled to strike Eirik, but he twisted the blade inside the Orc's chest and then kicked him back as Lydia had struck down her quarry. Turning there, he saw a Breton with side-burns and leather armor lying upon the floor of the cave.

"Where is she?" Eirik demanded. "Where is Mjoll the Lioness?"

"Oblivion take you, long-shanks!" he returned.

With a yell, Eirik stomped the bandit's face in with his boot. Meanwhile Crixus came back from farther down the tunnel.

"There's nothing here," he said. "It just goes back around to the walk-way we came from."

"Are you sure?" Eirik asked.

"Positive," he returned.

Eirik sighed. "Let me take a look."

He walked down the tunnel as Eirik suggested, but saw that, true to his word, the tunnel led out to the top of another wooden platform with an old fire-pit, a blacksmith's wheel, and a table in the room. Climbing down the stairs at the edge of the platform, he went to the bottom and looked around. Just underneath the walkway there was another tunnel leading into the mountain even further.

"Here, come take a look at this," said Crixus.

"There's another tunnel down here," Eirik said. "Come on down, it's right here."

Crixus and Lydia came down as instructed and Crixus held aloft his candlelight on the tunnel. It was not very deep, terminating in a room with a large chest propped up against the wall.

"As I said," he said. "Nothing. Now come, look at this."

Eirik gazed stunned at the cavern beyond while Crixus opened a book he had found on the table on the walkway at the top of the room and began to read therefrom.

"It looks like some sort of journal," he said. "There's a rather sloppy hand here, talking about mammoths and giants. Then...wait, here's something else." Crixus turned to Eirik and gave his shoulder a shove.

"What?" Eirik snapped, feeling betrayed that he had come this far for nothing.

"Look at this!" he said, pointing to the bandit's journal he had recovered.

"This is just a journal," Eirik said. "What good does it do us?"

"Read and see!"

Eirik took the journal from Crixus, who held up the light of his candlelight spell while he read it, starting where Crixus had instructed him: just below '_Unless we get a kill soon, we'll have to find somewhere else to camp._'

_Supplies have run low. The men are restless. We need to mount a successful raid or quit this damn hole. Right hand heard an echo in the swag room, thinks there might be another room behind the wall. If we don't trap no mammoths soon, it won't matter if there's a room filled with sweet rolls in there._

Eirik said nothing as he walked into the room directly ahead. There was only the large chest but nothing else. Any booty had long since been plundered. But he wasn't giving up, not when he was so close. Sheathing his sword upon his back and picking up a rock, he began tapping the rock walls around him. He circled around to the chest and, just above it, he heard an echo. He then began pushing the heavy chest away from the wall as best he could, when Crixus came in and offered to help lift the chest up. With Eirik on one side and Crixus on the other, they lifted the heavy chest off the dirt floor and dragged it away apace, throwing it on the ground with a heavy thud. Crixus then summoned his candlelight spell, revealing, hidden behind the chest, a crevice that had been chiseled into the rock.

"How far does it go?" Eirik asked. Crixus leaned down to examine it while Eirik turned, seeing Lydia running into the room after them, a nervous look on her face.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"There's something in there," she said, gesturing to the room from which she had come. "I could hear footsteps and feel something brushing through my hair."

"I thought you said there was nothing," Eirik replied.

"I was wrong," she returned. "There _is_ something in this cave with us."

Crixus then rose up from where he had been kneeling, brushing off the dirt that had accumulated on his knees.

"Well?"

"There's another room in there," he said. "It's rather wide and I can faintly hear water rushing."

"Can we get through there?" Eirik asked, looking at the crevice.

Crixus knelt down again, measuring the crevice with his arm. "Looks like it's just high enough for a fat man to crawl through on his hands and knees."

"Well, that makes sense," Lydia said. "It's been about six months since Skuldafn. Mjoll is bound to be showing by now."

"Yes, exactly," Crixus stated.

"What?" both Eirik and Lydia asked as one.

"The Companions," Crixus began. "That journal must have been written by the old occupants of this cave. Obviously they're gone, since their booty is also gone. Then the Companions came in here, found nothing, and left while Tarvis was on the run. But then he comes here, sees that journal, and decides to cut a hole in the rock and then seal it up with the chest." He turned to Eirik. "If your Lioness is still here, she's in that room." He pointed to the crevice.

"Then let's go," Eirik said, leaning down and crawling into the crevice. There was just enough room for him to get through, armor and all, but only just enough. As he pushed forward, he found a tunnel leading forward into a wide, darkened hall with water rushing off to the left. He then turned around.

"Can you make it through?" he asked.

"Are you shitting me?" Crixus chuckled. "I've been through tighter cracks than this, if you know what I mean."

"Lydia, how about you?" Eirik asked.

"I don't think my shield can fit through," Lydia replied. "It's wide enough for a pregnant Lioness, but not for my shield."

"Just leave it there," Eirik said, as he looked at the cavern beyond as Crixus emerged from the crevice, candlelight held aloft in front of him. "I don't know if you'll need it."

Before them they saw the cave room was completely deserted. More than that, there were near one end of the hall, a body lying on the ground with blood strewn upon the wall where he had fallen. As Crixus walked further into the cavernous hall, Eirik saw in the glow of his light-spell many other bodies that lay upon the ground, or lying against the walls of the cave or slumped on a table. There was only death before them.

Behind he heard Lydia crawling out of the crevice. When she saw the slaughter in the main hall, she let out a loud whistle that reverberated throughout the entire room.

"Shh!" Crixus hissed. "There may be more of them."

"Not the way it looks here," Lydia replied.

Suddenly Eirik heard a footstep grinding against the dirt floor beyond. Slowly he trod forward, drawing out his great-sword to meet whatever new threat there was to face. His palms were sweating, his breath rang in his ears and his eyes blinked profusely in the dim light, even despite his will. Whatever was now approaching him had somehow slain all of those around them and, if they were hostile, there was no plausible way of escape.

The sound came from the tunnel directly before him. Slowly at first it appeared, and then suddenly came into full view. Eirik gasped when he saw before him the one whose footsteps he had heard approaching. It was Mjoll the Lioness, her breast-plate hanging from her neck by its straps, loose by reason of her swollen stomach. There was blood on her face and blood on her body and the blood was not her own. Her right hand held Grimsever while her left hand leaned against the side of the tunnel.

"Eirik!" she breathed.

"Mjoll!" he gasped. It seemed to be just like his dreams. He was almost afraid that he _was_ dreaming and that sooner or later he would wake up back in Riften or on the road to Whiterun with Crixus and Mjoll would be just another mirage.

He could barely breathe, seeing her again in the flesh. There was a smile on her face that no blood stains could mar. He realized that he himself was shedding tears: for too long he had selfishly thrown himself into the jaws of death, fearing the worst and treating his love for Mjoll, and her love for him, as a little thing. But now it came back to him just how much she meant to him: she was the strength when he was weak, the undying sword at his side to face all life had to throw at them. She had intrusted him with her life, though he was not worthy of it. He wanted to run to her, throw his arms around her and feel her warm embrace once again, so long denied that he had almost forgotten what she felt like.

"This is for raping _my_ wife!" a voice filled with anger hissed in his ear.

His world suddenly erupted into pain, excruciating pain that pierced and stung and froze and burned. His eyes blurred and he heard voices shouting and heard footsteps running. He held out his hand towards Mjoll, whom he saw slowly walking towards him with something small following on behind her. But then his world became cold and numb and his eyes closed. Was it indeed all just a dream?

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I broke my promise and said one of those lines. I have now passed from decent epic into cliche. Ugh! On a good note, I felt chills while writing the last bit of the chapter. Also, no, I am NOT using the modern version of "swag", but the archaic version which means "loot, booty or stolen treasure" [yes i know, booty used to mean something besides ass]. Furthermore, having Mjoll kill off Tarvis' thugs while pregnant was inspired by Freydis Eiriksdottir, half-sister of Leif Ericson, from the <em>Greenland saga<em>.)**

**(Also this story hasn't had a decent cliff-hanger in a long while, so i give you one. Something that bothered me, though: theoretically, vampires would have a working nervous system [they obviously would feel pain, especially if they are burned by the sun], therefore if they were injured, they would feel it. I had Serana, who is a chronic complainer, make a comment about her breasts hurting after she hit a cliff wall chest first in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ and people actually commented that that was OOC. Personally i think that's a rather silly thing to think is OOC, because even vampires must theoretically have needs and at least know hunger/starvation. Do you think female vampires still have back problems if they're well endowed?)  
><strong>


	45. Into the West

**(AN: Instead of saving my money up for a new laptop so i can have personal computer independence and the freedom to record music again [and play _Crusader Kings_], i got anti-virus for my brother's desktop. That's why the updates have been more frequent, i've had more time to update them instead of hauling my ass to the library.)**

**(Changed the title of this chapter due to how the content has been changed. We also get to see my vision of one of three or four Tamriel provinces that has not been seen since _Arena/Daggerfall_)**

* * *

><p><strong>Into the West<strong>

Darkness took Eirik. Beyond all hope he foundered in the abyss, moving between horrifying image after horrifying image. He could hear the dragon's roar, so long forgotten, returned to his sight. Before his eyes he saw Mjoll standing before him, just inches away from the reach of his hand, only to vanish and be replaced by a faceless Argonian, spewing lies as his hands reached for Eirik's neck. How long he drifted like this he did not know, for time had no meaning for him.

Then into the darkness there appeared a voice, soft and warm, calling to him, beckoning him forward. A light, wavering and red-golden, appeared in the dark and from there the voice was heard the loudest. He strove to go towards the light, but found that every move thither pained him. Yet the voice called him onward still. With one last effort, he pushed towards the light, enduring the pain as bravely as he had any other hurt in all of his journeys.

"Eirik," he heard the voice speak. "I know you're there. Please, come back to me, to us. We need y..."

The voice halted as Eirik's eyes opened and he saw the face of Mjoll kneeling over him. The blood and woad-paint was cleaned off her face and she was smiling through tears. Her hand touched his face and he felt the warmth of her skin upon his skin and, turning his head to the right, kissed her hand.

"I thought I was dreaming again," Eirik groaned. "I thought I would never see you..."

Mjoll nodded. "I knew you would come for me," she said.

Eirik chuckled and felt his side ache. "It looks like you rescued yourself."

"Just relax, love," Mjoll returned. "You've been asleep for almost two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Eirik gasped. "What happened? I...I remembered seeing you and then...something attacked me."

"That was Tarvis," Mjoll said. "Do you remember the Argonian we met in Windhelm? The one who claimed that he was the Dragonborn?"

"Aye, I remember," Eirik replied. "But I didn't believe he was much more than a fool."

"A fool with resources," said Mjoll. "He had a company of bandits with him. We must have relocated several times, which is why it took you so long to find me." Eirik closed his eyes in shame. "What's wrong, my love?"

"Forgive me, Mjoll," said Eirik. "When I heard that you had not returned, I despaired. In my despair I acted selfishly and threw out all thought of anything but revenge...against the Empire."

Her hand still on the side of Eirik's face, Mjoll leaned in. "You are the one to whom I trusted my life, you are the one I love. I forgive you."

Eirik blinked back tears. "You're a better person than I could ever hope to be."

"You could be better," Mjoll said with a smile, wiping the tear from Eirik's cheek. "That's why I'm here."

"You still love me after all this?" Eirik asked.

"Of course," Mjoll replied. "I trusted you with my greatest secret and my life..." She then looked down. "...and the life of our child."

Eirik craned his head up from the pillow upon which it lay. He could now clearly see that Mjoll was no longer dressed in her carved Nordic steel armor, Crixus' wedding gift from the armorers of the Skaal, but a plain cloth dress overlaid with a simple curaiss of leather armor upon her shoulders and breast, unfastened about the waist to reveal her swollen stomach.

"Our child's grown," Eirik said, his eyes falling upon Mjoll's stomach.

"Yes," Mjoll smiled.

"You were unharmed?" Eirik asked.

"Tarvis wanted to kill the baby," Mjoll replied. "But I didn't let him."

"The next time I see him," Eirik retorted. "He's dead!"

"Please, calm yourself," Mjoll replied. "You only just woke up. You're in no condition to be fighting or doing anything."

"What happened to me?" Eirik asked. "My side hurts when I breathe or when I move."

"We managed to heal your wound," said Mjoll. "But there was poison on the knife that Tarvis used. It took Crixus long to find the ingredients to prevent spreading the poison and even longer to find an antidote."

"Crixus?" Eirik asked. "Wouldn't he have left me for dead?"

"You should have seen him," she replied. "Something snapped in him when he saw you in danger. I've never seen him act that way before. He led us here after we escaped Orotheim."

"Here?"

"We're in High Rock, my love," she replied. "The mountain homeland of the Bretons in the city of Evermore on the border of Hammerfell."

"Where are the others? Crixus, Lydia, Serana, the Companions..."

"They're here, more or less," Mjoll replied. "Lydia has hardly left your side throughout the whole ordeal. Even when Crixus told her to run errands to The Lucid Brewer for ingredients - that's the potion-master's shop in the city - she was very fast and came straight back here. The Companions...well..."

"Well what?" Eirik asked.

"They're outside the city in a camp," Mjoll said. "The Bretons here have quite a distrust for Nords. It seems there are more than a few Forsworn in Evermore who sympathize with their King Madanach in Markarth. It was this way when I came here on my adventure..."

"What about Serana?"

"I don't know, my love," Mjoll returned. "She was badly injured when we found her. She managed to remove the arrow, but she was still very weak. We haven't seen here since we arrived here."

Eirik sighed.

"Crixus is waiting for you outside the city, by the Companions camp," Mjoll replied. "When you're rested and healed, he wants to speak to you. For now, though, there's someone I would like you to meet." Mjoll got up and walked out of sight. Moments later she emerged again, a little child at her side. She had dark hair and a rather fair complexion and her eyes were blue. She was now looking with uncertainty at the long, tall Nord warrior lying on the bed before her.

"Lucia," she said. "I want you to meet Eirik, my husband and your new father."

"Father?" Eirik murmured.

"Tarvis pulled her off the streets of Whiterun," Mjoll said to Eirik. "She was very good to me in my captivity and I came to love her as my own. I promised that she could live with us."

The little girl approached Eirik cautiously, looking from his wounded side to his brown eyes.

"Hey there," Eirik said. "It's nice to meet you." The little girl did not respond. "Mjoll tells me that you're going to live with us. Well, that doesn't seem like a problem...at least once I've finished our house, that is." She did not say anything but simply stared at him. "What's wrong? Are you afraid of me?"

She shook her head, but Eirik saw that she was clinging to Mjoll's arm rather tightly.

"Look," he said. "I won't hurt you. If Mjoll wants to keep you, then that's fine with me. Okay? Do you understand?" She nodded. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Did you hurt Mama?" she finally asked.

Eirik did not know how to respond. By taking her gift from her, he might have caused her pain and Mjoll did not yet tell of all the things that had happened during her captivity. At last, however, seeing the yearning look from her little blue eyes, he shook his head, as painful as it was to move.

"No, I didn't," he said at last. "I love her."

"Why did papa say you hurt her?" she asked.

Eirik looked at Mjoll, who lowered her eyes. "Tarvis. When he found that I was pregnant, he...well, he blamed you for...having your way with me...forcibly."

Once more Eirik did not know how to respond. He didn't learn about how men and women made love until his teenaged years and never experienced it until he was thirty and yet here was a child asking about the same. He did not know how to respond, or any of what had happened in that cave to know how to answer what had been said of him.

"I love your mother Mjoll," Eirik said. "What happened between us...we both wanted it. I don't know what this...Tarvis said, but _that_ was a lie. I never laid hands on your mother and I never forced her."

"Are you angry with her?" she asked again.

"No, of course not," Eirik replied. "Why would I be?"

"Because she has a baby inside her."

"That's no reason to be angry," Eirik said. "The child is ours and we, your mother and I, we are both very happy."

"Will you love the baby more than me?"

"Of course not!" Mjoll returned. "I have enough love to share for all three of you." She then turned to Eirik. "And he has more than enough love for all of us."

The little girl turned to Eirik. "Do you love Mama?"

"Yes I do," Eirik said, fighting back tears as he recalled all of the things he had done in the folly of his despair.

"Are you two going to fight?"

"No," Eirik said. "I'm overjoyed to see her. Why would I fight?"

"Papa said he loved her," said Lucia. "And they fought all the time."

"Maybe I should leave," Mjoll said. "Let you two get to know..."

"No, Mama!" little Lucia whined. "Don't go!"

"Alright," Mjoll consented. "I'll stay here with you."

"Lucia," Eirik said. "That is your name, isn't it?" She nodded. "You're from Cyrodiil, aren't you?" She nodded again. "Listen, there is something I have to tell you."

"What is it?"

"Your mother and I," he began. "We may fight, but that doesn't mean we don't love each other."

Lucia then looked up at Mjoll. "He explains things better."

"We have nothing to hide from you, my dear," Mjoll said.

"But still stay with me, won't you, Mama?" asked Lucia.

"I'm right here at your side," Mjoll replied.

Lucia turned back to Eirik. "Why did papa and Mama fight?"

"I don't know," Eirik returned. "I wasn't there. But from what Mjoll, your mother, told me, it was because of our child."

"Did he wanna hurt Mama's baby?"

Mjoll interjected. "Yes. If he had had his way, I feel he would have done so. He said that he would wait until the baby was born, but he kept trying to give me this potion."

"What potion?" Eirik asked.

"I don't know," Mjoll replied. "Lucia remembers what it smells like."

"Then perhaps you can be of help, eh?" he said, turning to Lucia. She nodded. "You can go now if you want."

"Go on and play, love," Mjoll whispered to Lucia, who nodded, gave Mjoll a hug and then left the room. She turned back to Eirik, a wiry smile on her face. "You handled that well."

"I hope so," Eirik replied. "I've never been good with children and I didn't know if I was saying half of the things I should be saying."

"You were fine, love," Mjoll returned with a smile. "It will be a hard road, raising two children, but we do not need to walk it alone."

"Aye," Eirik nodded. He then leaned up and looked around. "Where's Lydia?"

"I finally sent her off to get some sleep," said Mjoll. "She looked like she needed it. And so do you. There will be plenty of time for questions later. Right now you need to rest."

Eirik held up his hand, forcing himself to keep it up despite the pain in his side. "Don't leave. Not yet. I..."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid this is all just another dream," Eirik muttered.

Mjoll placed her hands upon his and kissed it. "This is for real, my love."

Eirik smiled and then drifted into a pleasant sleep.

* * *

><p>When he awoke again, Eirik found Lydia standing nearby, a look of worry on her face. He closed his eyes as he was still weary: two weeks in bed made him want to remain there. But he managed to open his eyes, wiping away the look of concern off the face of his huscarl.<p>

"Thank the gods you're finally awake!" she said.

"I was awake before," Eirik said. He realized that talking hurt less than it did before and he was able to bring himself up to a sitting position. He gestured for Lydia to come closer and sit on the bed next to him. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know what else you need to know," she said. "That Mjoll didn't tell you."

"What happened in the cave?" Eirik asked. "She said that something changed with Crixus."

"That it did," Lydia began. "Once Mjoll appeared, you were attacked from behind. I swear it was that thing that had been chasing us throughout the cave, the one that stuck Serana with that cross-bow bolt. It was your Argonian. He was fast and he got away before anyone could catch him."

"What about the Companions?"

"Aela and the others are _really_ upset with themselves. They said they never saw someone move that fast. He leaped through them with a shout and then sped away like a whirlwind. I've only ever seen _you_ do that before, my thane."

"He knows the Voice," Eirik said.

"But how?"

"He must have learned it from the Greybeards," Eirik reasoned. "The same way Ulfric learned it."

"Well," Lydia continued, swallowing down a lump in her throat. "After he left, we brought you out of the cave. You had been injured but you weren't responding. Crixus...well, something changed in him when he saw you and thought you were dead."

"Thought I was dead?" Eirik asked.

"Yeah, he gathered us all together and said we should go into the west, to High Rock. He kept saying something about the Thalmor, but he wouldn't say anymore. We were about half-way there when there was dissension about burying you. The Companions wanted to burn you, but Mjoll refused to believe you were dead. That was when Serana spoke again: she said that she could sense that you were still alive, whatever that means, but that you were near death."

"Where is Crixus?" Eirik asked.

"Still outside the city," Lydia returned. "His friend Torgrim arrived while you were unconscious and they've been having counsel outside with the Companions."

"Can you take me there?" Eirik asked.

"Are you sure you're strong enough to do this?" she asked.

"I won't know until I find out," Eirik returned. "Just help me get up."

Eirik found that while he could not bend his middle section without still causing him pain, his legs still moved. With Lydia offering him her shoulder to lean on, they made their way out of the room, down the stairs and to the door.

* * *

><p>As he stepped out into the sun, his eyes blinking from his first exposure to sunlight in almost two weeks, Eirik saw his first glimpse of the city of Evermore on the eastern border of High Rock. His room opened upon the east, where he saw the high, white-peaked Wrothgarian Mountains stretching their granite masses up into the clouds where they were soon lost to sight. To the south his eyes saw a long string of black mountains stretching as far as the eye could see along the southern horizon: these were the Dragontail Mountains, which formed the border between High Rock and Hammerfell, and rightly named as well, for Eirik was reminded indeed of the great tail of Alduin the World-Eater. But between granite heights capped with snow and the dragon's tail, there was a green valley pitted with crags and small canyons, like knife wounds into the body of the land, similar to the Reach. To the left and north there rose the western arm of the Wrothgarian Mountains, rising high as their eastern brethren, closed in the majesty of snow and crowned with clouds. The valley seemed to be a very beautiful place.<p>

The actual city of Evermore was as much part of the lower bulk of the mountains as any Dwemer ruin, but this was a city crafted by the minds of men, not mer-kind. The outer wall of the city was fashioned out of the mountain itself, formed over the years through careful planning and slow carving out of the solid rock: no hand could move those walls save one that could move the very bones of the earth. Inside the city were the houses of the more well-to-do people of Evermore. Most of the houses were in the Colovian fashion with walls of white lime supported by wooden beams and stones with a roof of tarred wooden shingles. Outside the city walls, however, Eirik could see several houses in the ancient High Rock fashion: these were made entirely of small stones stacked together to build a house, over which would go a roof of stones or sod.

As they walked through the streets, Lydia leading Eirik towards the gates, they realized once more that they were most definitely not in Skyrim. Though Eirik deemed himself to be of average height for a Nord, here he towered over everyone they passed in the stone-paved streets of Evermore. Even the men they saw were as tall as Lydia. Mostly those people they passed in the streets kept to themselves, but when they saw the two tall Nords approaching, they hushed and cast distrusting glances at them.

There were many various people in the streets. Most of them were Bretons, the people of High Rock, shorter than Nords. From a scholar and his assistant scurrying back to his study, a gaggle of high society women chatting the local gossip, a knight in old style Colovian armor riding through the streets, to a group of wizards discussing the finer points of magic: these were definitely different than the peasants and adventurers who congregated in the streets of the cities of Skyrim. Eirik also noted that there were no peasants in the streets, not even beggars. It seemed strangely clean, a relic of a bygone age untouched by the woes of a world at war.

They turned right, the narrow street through the tall, lime-walled houses and apartments leading to a wider street filled with merchant's stands. From where they stood to the gates of the city, made of granite bricks to augment the gap in the mountain-wall, there were stands and huts and stalls of all shapes, sizes and colors. Here the enterprising and mercantile spirit of the Breton people was made manifest, for in these stands was sold all sorts of goods and commodities, oddities of all sorts from all corners of Tamriel. There were ice-berries from the Valley of Morwha's Three Daughters in Hammerfell, blue and glistening in the afternoon sun, fine tapestries from Alinor, Black-Briar mead from Skyrim (these merchants must have purchased their stock before Eirik drove the Black-Briars out of Skyrim, making it even rarer and pricier), moon sugar from Elsweyr, mandrake roots from the living forests of Valenwood, ash yams from Solstheim, kwama eggs from the mainland of Morrowind, hist sap from Gideon in Black Marsh and fine wines and clothing from Cyrodiil. Here alone the streets appeared dirty, by reason of the traffic by the many merchant stands.

When at last they passed out through the gates, the difference was like night and day. The green vale between city walls and the crags beyond were filled with the stone huts he had seen from the doorstep of their rented house, many of them covered with sod and looking no different than the land around them. There were also many poor huddling by the walls of the city, begging for alms or trying to keep warm. Beyond them Eirik saw the stone cottages held many farms, such as he had seen in Skyrim. It was late in spring and the people were out in the fields, busy toiling away for food that would be tithed and divided for the people living in the city and what was left over given to the farmers themselves.

Between the farms and the walls, Eirik saw four set up on the green fields. A red banner with the great-axe Wuuthrad embroidered in gold flew in the cool wind. Out in front of the largest one stood Crixus, gazing south and eastward towards where the high mountains capped with snow met the dragon's tail.

"Here he is!" Lydia spoke up.

Crixus turned about and Eirik saw a grim look on his face. Gone it seemed was all indication of the haughty, arrogant Colovian he knew before. A different man, similar to his grim and sensible age, stood before him.

"I see you're on your feet," he said. "That's good. We'll need every warrior we can get before the end."

"Excuse me?" Eirik asked. "I was led to believe that Servius Crixus was waiting here for me."

Crixus scoffed. "I see your little brush with death hasn't stifled your usual childish wit."

"What happened back in the cave?" Eirik asked.

"Didn't they tell you already?" asked Crixus in retort.

"I want to hear it from you," he returned.

Crixus sighed. "I had to take control when Tarvis stabbed you. We thought you were dead. It was one position I wish I never have to be in ever again."

"Why is that?"

"I had to lead everyone," Crixus said, looking back to the south-east. "And, for all I knew, you were dead and I was the only Dragonborn, or whatever the fuck you call it, in Tamriel. That's not a burden I want on my shoulders. It dawned on me then what I would have to do: someone would have to lead the Companions, someone would have to hunt down the remaining dragons, someone would have to stand up to the Thalmor and then..."

"Yes?"

Crixus turned around. "And then I had a revelation. Something that dawned on me during the five days it took to reach High Rock. I realized that you had a purpose, a reason for being here. Then I realized that everyone had a purpose. It-It appeared to me like one of those Dwemer machines, a perfect machination: everything in its place. Even the grease keeps the wheels turning. I saw that we were all like wheels and pieces in a giant Dwemer machine, all of us with our place: even you Nords, as much as I can't stand you, have a purpose of your own, small and insignificant as it may be."

Eirik sighed. "Where is this all leading?"

"While I saw this," he continued. "I realized that some of the pieces were not working according to their design. Then from within they started to all turn and the machine...was destroyed." He turned to Eirik. "I'm aware that none of this makes sense to you. How could you ever possibly understand? You're just a Nord."

"Look, if you have nothing else to say," Eirik said, turning around.

"I realized that we all had a purpose," Crixus began again. "But there were those that were working against their purpose. It certainly makes sense. You're the Wulfarth to my..."

"Your what?"

"Don't make me say it," groaned Crixus.

"Your what?"

"Talos, you arse-hole!" Crixus shouted. "But I have no purpose, not any more. It's all just drinking and hoping to make life as miserable as possible for you Nords."

"Why do you have no purpose?" Eirik asked.

Crixus sighed the deep, weary groan that far too often escaped from Eirik's lips. "You've probably wondered why I'm here in Skyrim if I hate this land and you Nords as much as the Dominion."

"Yes, that has crossed my mind before."

"Well," Crixus returned. "It was either that or go back to my shitty desk job in Mournhold or Narsis or wherever the fuck it was in Morrowind. I was to come here and spy on Thalmor activity in Skyrim and report back. There's only one problem with that."

"What's that?"

"Who do I report to?" asked Crixus. "And what would the point of reporting anything be to anybody? The Emperor is dead and the Thalmor have begun fielding troops in Skyrim."

"What?" Eirik asked, anger rising up within him.

"Petruvius told me," Crixus said. "He found out from your steward in Riften: Anuriel or whatever that little Bosmer's name is. You know, it's not wise to keep her around. She's on the payroll of the Thieves Guild."

"What do you mean, the Thalmor are fielding troops in Skyrim?" Eirik asked again.

"Just what I said," Crixus retorted. "You've been fighting the Empire with your insignificant little rebellion, but all the time, it's done nothing but weaken it for everyone. Mankind will die and its your fault!"

"And what are _you_ doing about it?" Eirik asked.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do," Eirik retorted. "At least I tried to unite Skyrim against her common enemy. All you do is see the problem and sit here, doing nothing but blaming me and my people." Even as he spoke, he felt despair rising up within his being. The words of Paarthurnax came back into mind: were his attempts at withstanding the Dominion actually helping expedite their goals?

"And what do you expect me to do, hmm?" Crixus asked. "Become the Dragonborn Emperor? Another Tiber Septim to be a scourge across Tamriel with my tyranny?"

"Do what needs to be done," Eirik said. "You see that the Empire is divided? Then unite it! The Dominion move against us? Then raise an army to withstand them! In this we agree, that the Dominion must not be allowed to win again. We cannot let them win! They must _not_ win!"

Crixus scoffed. "Are you sure you want this? I never expected you to conform to what _needed_ to be done, especially considering your love of Talos and how you won't just give it up for the sake of peace and unity."

"We both know that outlawing Talos was _meant_ to divide the Empire," Eirik said. "If you want Skyrim returned to it, you will abolish the White-Gold Concordant and permit the people to worship Talos as is their right."

"It was meant to keep the peace..."

"It's a lie!" Eirik returned. "You yourself said that the Dominion have attacked again. They've broken the treaty. The White-Gold Concordant means nothing to them, so it should mean to us."

"I would not be ruling as I should," Crixus returned. "Talos doesn't deserve to be worshiped."

"It's times like this," Eirik replied. "That we must put aside our own goals and focus on what is important."

"Says the man who forsook his wife for four months!"

"This isn't about me! This is about the future of both of our peoples, Colovians and Nords. If we don't act now, it will be too late." Eirik sighed and Lydia, who had been silent this whole time, placed her hand on his shoulder.

"You're the one who doesn't believe in fate," Eirik said to Crixus. "But by doing nothing, you're giving credence to what Azura prophesied about you."

Lydia led Eirik away from where Crixus stood, thinking to himself, and brought him into the tent of the Companions. This done, he dismissed her to do as she willed while he spoke with the Inner Circle. Crixus, meanwhile, was left to ponder his situation by himself. Eirik felt as though he had finally won an argument with him, but it brought him no joy. Win or lose, these arguments were as pointless as the Civil War: the Dominion was the real threat and while they waited in High Rock, doing nothing, the Thalmor were making their plans for the Second Great War with the Empire.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Finally got this chapter out. Took me a while, especially since I had to build up High Rock from the ground up with absolutely NO influence from Bethesda's feeble attempt at keeping up with <em>World of Warcraft<em> [aka. _ESO_]. Honestly, I love the _Wa__rcraft_ lore and the games, but they really screwed every other fantasy game series up. While there were definitely MMO-RPGs prior to _World of Warcraft_, _WoW_ was by far the most popular, which inspired all the other game-making companies to jump on the MMO-RPG band-wagon [_Star Wars_, _Star Trek_, _Lord of the Rings_, _Star __Wars_ again_, LEGOs_, _DC_ Comics and now _Elder Scrolls,_ to name but a few])**

**(As far as the story goes, how did you like the chapter? I had some interesting character development as well [with Crixus making mention of Kirkbride's "Tamriel is a giant Dwemer machine" thing from _C0DA_ since my brother - who created Crixus - and one of my readers love you-know-who]). The High Rock of my mind is one that is more reminiscent of Ireland, Scotland or the Faroe Islands, sharing the beauty of the Northern Lands while having its own unique mystery to it [i imagine there to be many wild and fae things in the Gavaudon Forest north of Evermore and south-west of Farrun and Jehanna].)**


	46. The Fall of Haafingar

**(AN: I'm cutting away from the main action [again] to set up something that will be seen in _The Dragon of the South_ as well as to reorient the threat [which i still feel is kind of muted in this story])**

* * *

><p><strong>The Fall of Haafingar<strong>

It was many months since the ninth of Morning Star last year, when it had all began. It had been a cold Turdas, a grim start to a grim day. Ever since then, the burden of ruling an entire hold had fallen on the shoulders of Elisif Oyvidsdottir, called 'the Fair' for her great beauty. But neither her family's money nor her looks were enough to rule Skyrim. Therefore it had been nothing short of a boon when General Flavius Tullius placed men in her cabinet who were competent, such as Falk Firebeard who had served in her husband's court.

But that was then. Now things were much different. When the man known as Servius Crixus came to Solitude, she lent her ear to his counsels. So great was his influence on her that many in the court, including Falk, had reason to be alarmed. But what they did not know was that Crixus wanted _her_ to rule, not merely be an acting puppet for the Empire. Why it meant so much to him she had not bothered to ask, but now things were different. _She_ ruled the hold of Haafingar. Sure, it had alienated her from many in her court, but now she would be able to rule without help. She felt that Torygg would be honored thereby.

Elisif sat now at court, surrounded by her courtiers, listening to the problems and petitions of the day. There was Falk, red-haired old friend who, despite the distance that had come between them, still maintained the outward appearance of kindly adviser. There was Sybille Stentor, the mysterious Breton court wizard who seemed to never sleep, always pouring over old treatises on magic and sorcery - Elisif wondered if it was merely a thing Bretons did, for she did not understand why anyone would want to tamper with the forces of magicka. Her huscarl Bolgeir stood behind her throne, keeping watch on all those who entered the palace. On the opposite side of her throne was Rikke, former legate of the Haafingar Imperial garrison made governor after Tullius quit Skyrim following the war. Among the courtiers was Erikur, a shifty man who seemed to have more than enough on anyone and everyone.

"My Jarl," Falk said. "I feel that this move is entirely unjustified."

"Why, my dear Falk?" Elisif asked. "Skyrim deserves to be united, does it not?"

"Well, yes," Falk replied. "But there are more important matters to attend to. For instance, the relief effort to Winterhold needs your approval. Jarl Kraldar is short of man-power and these...things seem to be appearing quite frequently."

"Would you ignore the deaths of Nord men, women and children in the streets of Windhelm?" Elisif asked.

"Rumors, nothing more," Falk stated.

"They are _our_ people in a city of our kingdom!"

"The city of the rebels!"

"The war is over," said Elisif. "We must re-establish friendship with our kinsfolk in Eastmarch. House Sarys must pay for the lives they took."

"Stormcloak lives!" Falk added. "We cannot show pity to these remnants of the rebels, these bandits who have taken up hold in the south. _They_ should be our focus!"

"My lady," Erikur spoke up. "In this, I agree with Master Firebeard. The new dark elven leadership of Windhelm would be to our advantage. The war has vastly drained our resources and there are rumors of the ebony mines of Solstheim reopening. Now is the time to foster good relations with the dark elves, not chase after a petty vendetta."

"A messenger from Jon Battle-Born in Whiterun!" one of the guards announced.

"Let him in!" Elisif ordered.

A courier walked into the hall and knelt down before Jarl Elisif.

"My lady," he greeted. "I have a message from Jon of Clan Battle-Born, the revered and honored Clan Battle-Born who served you faithfully during the Great War."

"Let me see the message," Falk said to the courier.

"Forgive me, my lord, but my instructions were to deliver it to the hand of Jarl Elisif herself."

"Anything you have to give to the Jarl, you can give to me." The courier nervously looked about, then handed from his saddle-bag the note in question. Falk broke the seal and opened the note, reading to himself what was written thereon.

_Jarl Elisif the Fair, ruler of Solitude and rightful High Queen of Skyrim_

_I, your humble servant, write to you from the loyal hold of Whiterun with news of the greatest urgency. We are beset upon by the Thalmor. Ever since Jarl Hrongar took control of Whiterun, there have been Thalmor justicars positioned in the city. They have destroyed the statue of Talos in the city square, but this is not why I have sent this letter to you._

_Last month, being Second Seed, the Thalmor have been publicly executing those who speak out against their work, the Dominion or the banning of Talos. The bodies of those they have slain have been hanged from the gate of Whiterun without the decency of proper burial. Hundreds are already dead, their bodies nailed to the gates, the walls, the Gildergleam Tree, even the great halls of Dragonsreach and Jorrvaskr. We have sent many please to Jarl Hrongar, but they have gone unanswered. Save us, we pray, in the name of the Eight and One, or we are wholly lost._

_Your humble servant, Jon Battle-Born_

"Well?" Elisif asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing that concerns us, my Jarl," Falk said, stuffing the letter into the bosom of his jacket. "I will see to it myself later."

"I would like to see the letter," Elisif returned. "It was, after all, addressed to me."

"It is only a little matter," Falk replied. "There's no need to worry yourself over it, my Jarl."

"If it is so insignificant," Elisif asked. "Then why not let me read it?"

"Please, my Jarl!"

"Are you disobeying the word of your Jarl, Falk?" she asked, voice calm but threatening. "Give me the letter now!"

Falk reluctantly removed the letter from his bosom and presented it to the Jarl. She read it and her mouth hung open in surprise.

"It is nothing," Falk said. "The humble Jon Battle-Born is mistaken."

"Nothing?" Elisif asked. "You call _this _nothing? This is terrible! Last month? Why wasn't I told about this?"

"There must be some mistake," Falk stated. "The Thalmor do not have authorization to kill, only to seek out and punish those who violate the White-Gold Concordant by worshiping Talos!"

"Besides," Erikur added. "If there were such an unlikely event of hostilities, the Empire would have known about it. They would have acted upon it."

"For once, my Jarl," Falk chuckled. "I agree with Erikur."

"Our people are dying, Falk," Elisif retorted. "First in Windhelm and now in Whiterun. And you ask me to do nothing?"

"The Empire keeps the Dominion out of Skyrim, my Jarl," said Falk. "There is no reason to worry."

But even as the words were leaving his mouth, in the antechamber downstairs before the Jarl's court there was heard a commotion. There were two bright flashes of blue and then two of the guards on the stairs fell to the floor, dead. Into the Blue Palace there rushed many elves in golden or malachite armor. They were armed with short swords and shields, though some bore conjured swords and conjured bows in their hands. Behind them walked a cadre of Thalmor justicars in the gold-bordered black robes. They drew their weapons on the court, holding them at bay. Once the palace was secure, out of their midst walked Thelgil, new ambassador of the Thalmor and High Justicar.

"What is the meaning of this?" Elisif demanded, standing up from her throne.

"Solitude belongs to the Dominion," Thelgil said in his slow, hypnotically threatening voice.

"Over my dead body!" Bolgeir shouted, drawing forth a great-sword of steel.

"Bolgeir, hold!" Elisif said to her huscarl.

"They threaten your throne, my liege!" said Bolgeir. "That's as good as a threat to your person."

There was a sudden flash of blue light and an arrow appeared in Bolgeir's chest from one of the conjured bows. Another flash and then another and two more arrows appeared, straight through his armor. He collapsed before the throne of Solitude, dead.

"You seem surprised, Elisif," Thelgil said to the young Jarl. "Didn't General Tullius warn you about my people before he left?"

"The Empire will hear about this," Elisif said defiantly. "There _will_ be repercussions for violating the treaty. This is our land and your little attempt at a coup..."

Thelgil laughed. "_Your_ land? Your insolence is greater than your ignorance, even for a Nord. _All_ the lands of Nirn belong to the mer-kind. Your mongrel race is a blight upon our perfect world. One that will soon be eradicated." Thelgil slowly walked forward, gesturing for two justicars to follow him.

"Strike this one for her insolence," he said. "Make sure you keep your gloves on, though. We wouldn't want to stain our hands by touching _them_."

One of the justicars walked towards Elisif and slapped her across the face, then punched her in the stomach, sending her crumbling down onto the throne. Rikke came to the Jarl's side.

"Although, your kind do have their uses," Thelgil said to the other courtiers. "Erikur, step forward." Erikur stepped out from the others, a smug smile on his face. He stood before Thelgil, who was speaking to Elisif.

"How easily your people are bought off," he said. "For mere pittance your trusted thane had the port of Solitude closed and the watch on Northwatch Keep and Fort Hraggstad stand down." He then turned to Erikur. "You have been very helpful to us." With little more than one breath between the next words out of his mouth, Thelgil turned to the justicars at his side, the one to whom he had given the order to strike Elisif, and said: "Kill this one."

"No, wait, please!" he begged. "I was on your side! You can't do this to me!"

"It is only wise," Thelgil said as the two justicars forced Erikur to kneel before him. "To kill traitors."

"_You_ said you would make me Jarl of Solitude! You promised me!"

"Faith need not be kept with _your_ kind, human," Thelgil replied, disdain on his lips for saying the word. He waved his hand and one of his justicars slit Erikur's throat with a golden elvish dagger, then threw his body on the floor. Thelgil walked over to Falk, who gazed menacingly at him.

"Falk Firebeard," he said. "True and faithful to the end. But faithful to whom, I wonder? Faithful to the Empire...or to yourself?"

"My service has always been for the people of Haafingar," said Falk defiantly. "There is only one ruler of Solitude and that is Jarl Elisif Oyvidsdottir the Fair."

"Indeed?" Thelgil asked with a sneer. "Well then, Falk Firebeard, servant of the people, before I mingle your filthy blood with that of Erikur, I want you to know that your so-called devoted service has been..." He smiled. "...most helpful. You will be honored as the one who handed Skyrim to us, as far as we honor _your_ kind."

"Leave him alone, coward!" Sybille retorted.

"Ah," said Thelgil familiarly as he approached the Breton mage. He towered head and shoulders above her. "My dear friend Sybille Stentor. I daresay we have met before, in the dungeons of Solitude. I know everything about you, including your non-involvement in the death of Torygg Istlodsson, former High King of Skyrim."

"How dare you!" Sybille retorted.

Thelgil smiled, holding one finger up. "Ah, but that is not the greatest secret of yours, is it? Shall I tell them, Sybille? Do you believe they..._deserve_ to know the truth?"

"Don't!" Sybille said, gazing up at him with disdain.

"Of course," Thelgil smirked. "That would be too...simple." He turned to one of the justicars and asked for the dagger which had slain Erikur. The justicar placed the dagger in Thelgil's hand, who held it up before Sybille's face.

"How long has it been since you've fed, Lady Stentor?" he asked in a low, menacing whisper. He turned the dagger in his hand, presenting the bloodied blade to Sybille's lips. Sybille's eyes did not leave the blade and her lips quivered, but she did not make any sudden moves.

"You have strong restraint," he said. "But how strong is it?"

Gently, Thelgil moved the blade mere inches away from Sybille's lips. For a moment her tongue reached out towards the blade, but she stopped herself. Thelgil noticed this and inched the blade even closer, a look of gratification on his face. Sybille's lips quivered as the blade was now so close she did not have to stick out her tongue to taste the blood upon the blade. From her fixated glance to her quivering lips, she was in great agony: Thelgil, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying her suffering. As if to add insult to injury, he licked the blood off the blade and then spat it in her face.

"Secure this mongrel," he said to his justicars, wiping the blood off his tongue with his sleeve. "Use magical bindings and a double guard. I want a guard standing with a sword at her neck and a sword at her heart. If she moves, kill her."

"Yes, sir!" one replied.

"Also," he added. "Make sure she gets enough sunlight. This _manmeri_ looks as though she's been in her study far too long."

But while Thelgil was torturing Sybille Stentor, Elisif had not been idle. She eyed the elvish soldiers, some of whom had left the main hall to search the Palace for other guards. Those who remained kept their guard, but it seemed as though their attention was on their leader more-so. Feigning sorrow, Elisif threw her face into Rikke's chest, then whispering into her ear.

"Run," she said. "Find Servius Crixus. Tell him what's happened here. Go now!"

Suddenly Rikke leaped towards the ranks of the Thalmor soldiers which were thinnest. Though they were also armored and armed, she, being a Nord, was more powerfully built and, catching them by surprise, pushed the frail elves aside like a mammoth charging through a pack of wolves. But the element of surprise was lost for the others saw her and closed in for the kill, pushing her up against the rail. Rikke leaped over the railing and disappeared down into the antechamber with a loud cry.

"After her!" Thelgil shouted. "She must not escape!"

Elisif sat on her throne, rubbing her cheek and praying to all the Divines, even Talos, that Rikke would find Crixus in time. She had no idea where he could be, but he was her only hope. As an Imperial legate, a war hero and a friend of hers, he might be able to rouse the might of the Imperial Legion or, at the very least, rally an army to drive these elves out of Skyrim.

_Gods be with her_, she prayed. _Let her find Crixus soon, for all of us_.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: As I'm sure someone will say of this chapter, like the titles of two previous chapters, "it's too soon!" Well, of course its too soon! Thelgil is exceptionally fervent in fulfilling the goal of the Dominion as well as his people all together and he <em>really<em> hates non-Altmer. Thankfully, we got to see what kind of person he is and what his plans are [for the moment] without having to have him explain them.)**

**(Before someone gets upset about my depiction of Falk Firebeard, let me ask you something: why does he get so offended and threaten to kick you out of Solitude if you question whether Elisif is really in charge of Solitude or not? Personally, i feel that he might either be a] an adjunct through whom the Imperial agenda is played out in Skyrim or b] he is out for himself. This is especially strengthened at the end of the Potema quest when he says "I won't forget what you've done for Skyrim.")**


	47. The Return

**(AN: I had to advance the time setting of the story a bit in order to have something happen that fits the cycle of life, death and rebirth. That could be considered a theme of this story, as well as responsibility.)**

**(As you can see from the author's note and from one of the reviewers, yes, the end _is_ in sight. That does not mean the end of my ventures into my fanon-lore of the _Elder Scrolls_ post-and-inter-_Skyrim_. I still have _The Dragon_ _of the South_ and _Hammerfell_, with the possibility of _Children of the Dragon_ coming soon [not to be confused with my failed Dracula spin-off of the same name]. I considered making a _Winterhold_ story which would focus exclusively on the College of Winterhold quest-line, at least my version of it, which would have Crixus in a minor role and someone else [non-Dragonborn] be the one to do that quest-line. But then part of me wonders since its kind of part of Crixus' story, if i should just put that in _The Dragon of the South_. What do you think?)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Return<strong>

Six days had passed since Eirik awoke from the poisoned sleep. During that time he had been able to finally rest in Evermore with Mjoll and Lucia, who was starting to warm up to him. Crixus also was having more discussions with Eirik that sounded like two people in the streets talking rather than a verbal fist-fight. The people of Evermore seemed to have gotten used to the idea of these Nords living in their city, but they was still a thin level of animosity between them.

"Can you blame them?" Crixus asked. "They've been at war with you Nords over the Reach for years."

"And yet you _insist_ that they're not with the Reachmen?" Eirik had asked.

"Yeah, that's right."

The Companions, meanwhile, were growing restless. There were no jobs for them anywhere, as far north as Jehanna and even south in Dragonstar on the border of Hammerfell. The Fighters Guild was still in operation in this part of the Empire and they performed the duties that would usually go to the Companions in Skyrim. To this, it was at last decided by the Inner Circle that the Companions should return to Skyrim to reunify themselves. Eirik and Crixus sat in the tent with Vilkas, Farkas and Aela and listened while Lydia and Lucia played in the grass outside the tent.

"With that in mind," Vilkas said. "I feel that it's our time to return to Skyrim and bring the Sons of Ysgramor together again."

"This is a good cause," said Eirik. "But I don't know if it will be as easy as just walking up to Jorrvaskr and talking Njada down."

"We've been in the Companions for a long while," Aela stated. "Our word is trusted. When she hears from us that you are our Harbinger, Njada will stand down."

"She's convinced herself," Eirik returned. "That Kodlak was wrong, that he fell into folly in his old age by choosing me."

"Wasn't there a book?" Farkas asked.

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "Kodlak's journal."

"If we find it," Vilkas said. "We can show it to Njada. There will be four voices for you and only one for her."

"I feel that it won't be that easy," Eirik shook his head.

"Then we'll do as the song said," Aela added. "Threaten her with death if she doesn't join us."

"Do you_ really_ want a rogue werewolf on your hands?" asked Crixus.

"We are in agreement," said Vilkas. "We will return to Skyrim tomorrow and join the Companions together once again."

"May the gods be with you," Eirik said.

"Just a moment," Crixus spoke up. All eyes turned to him. "Before you lot run off, allow me, as a friend of Kodlak Whitemane and Skjor the Unscarred, to speak my peace." He then turned to Eirik. "Unless I'm still banished from the Companions."

"I banished you from Jorrvaskr," Eirik replied. "We are not in Jorrvaskr now." He added with a wink which made Crixus chuckle as he turned back to the Inner Circle.

"I'm pretty sure you lot know as well as I do what's happening in Skyrim," said Crixus. "Dominion forces in Whiterun, justicars everywhere. Both of your leaders fought in the war, so its only natural that you..."

"We don't fight in any wars," Aela replied. "Surely Eirik told you that."

"That's bull-shite," Crixus retorted. "You call yourselves the greatest fighters in all of Skyrim! Why _not_ fight in her wars?"

"If we did as you suggest," Vilkas added. "Opinion would be divided. Half of the Companions would side with one leader, the other half with another. We'd kill ourselves through combat before the war ended."

"This war is different," Eirik stated.

"_Evgir Uslaad_," Aela added. "Season Unending. How is one war different from another?"

"This isn't some petty squabble over land or resources," Crixus replied. "It's a war of extermination, the Dominion and their allies against the rest of humanity. Now I've been among them long enough to know what they're planning, or at least what they're planning that concerns us." He sighed, and then looked back at Eirik.

"Remember what I said about that vampire lord earlier this year?" he said. "Well, _this_ is why it's rubbish to be worshiping gods or believing in prophecies, because some idiot is going to believe them and then come along and try and do something stupid."

"Not everyone who believes in gods or daedra," Aela stated. "Is crazy or an idiot."

"Whatever," Crixus rolled his eyes. "Look, the point is that I know what the Thalmor are planning. The justicar of Winterhold Ancano let it slip last year when Marcurio and I were helping the College wizards."

"And what are they planning?" Eirik asked.

Crixus rolled his eyes again. "It's so stupid, only someone with as much blind faith as you lot could possibly believe something like this. They want to erase the worship of Talos from the world and all of mankind as well..."

"I thought that was to divide the Empire," Eirik pointed out.

"A smart enemy would do just that," Crixus added. "But _they_ seem to believe that, despite their much-deserved hatred and disbelief in Talos, he really _is_ a god. And not just a god, but powerful enough to be some sort of guardian on the cracks of Aetherius or whatever. See, they believe that Talos is keeping them from going back into Aetherius and being reunited with the Eight or whatever bull-shite. It's all utter nonsense: if this were true, why weren't high elves going to Aetherius during all the ages between the beginning and Tiber Septim's death?" Eirik chuckled. "What, you think this is funny?"

"You say that this is something a believer in the gods would do," Eirik said. "But to me, it sounds more like something a nonbeliever would do. Kill everyone who worships a god to keep them from being worshiped and therefore die out."

"It's fucking impractical," Crixus said.

"Watch your tongue," Eirik said. "Divines only know what kind of language Lucia's heard."

"So?" Crixus asked. "You curse as much as I do."

"I want her to be better than me," Eirik said.

"She's not even your child," Crixus retorted.

"But she is," Eirik retorted.

"And how is that a convincing argument?" Crixus asked. "Just banal contradiction?"

"You've done that before," Eirik returned.

"Do you _really_ want to start that again?" Crixus asked, shook his head and then turned back to the Companions. "As I was saying, it won't matter to the Dominion if you decide not to fight: they will kill you just the same."

"Then we will fall defending what is ours," Vilkas replied. "But we will not be guilty of killing our shield-brothers."

"That's stupid," Crixus retorted. "If they're going to wipe you out..."

"Let 'em try it!" Farkas added.

Crixus rolled his eyes and walked out of the tent. Eirik, meanwhile, kept his place and turned back to the Companions once Crixus had left.

"We were hoping," Aela spoke up. "That you'd come with us. There's only six of us."

"And only two of them?" Eirik returned.

"If you returned in person," Vilkas replied. "It would strengthen your place as the Harbinger."

Eirik shook his head. "I have been running across Skyrim for too long, neglecting my responsibilities..."

"Now is not the time for that," Vilkas interrupted. "Look, we honored our oath to stand and fight at your side and rescue Mjoll, and that has been completed. Now it's _your_ turn to honor your oath and stand for the Companions."

"And what of my wife and children?" Eirik asked. "What of the Sons of Skyrim?"

"They must make due without you for the time being," said Aela

Eirik sighed, then rose to his feet. "I cannot do this, not now. I have found my responsibility and it is to my family. When the time comes, I will be join you if I can."

"Gods, why are you being so selfish?" Farkas roared.

"Farkas, no!" Aela interjected.

"Don't defend him!" said Farkas. "He has a habit of getting side-tracked and forgetting his duties."

"I have a duty to them," Eirik said, pointing outside of the tent. "But I will not forget my other duties."

Farkas did not sit down but glowered at Eirik with disapproval. Meanwhile, Vilkas and Aela hung their heads in frustration. Vilkas was the one to finally break the silence.

"Forgive my brother," he said. "We were both orphaned in Jorrvaskr very early on. It's not something we usually talk about to anyone, only those who've known us."

"How?" Eirik asked.

"Kodlak remembered our father Jergen and told us about him," Vilkas stated. "He said that he left with him to join the Great War against the Dominion, and he never returned. For my part, I realize what you have to do, Eirik. I would not have you make the same mistake for your children that our father did for us. Stay here and protect them, Harbinger: that also is honorable."

"But what about us?" roared Farkas. "Are _we_ not shield-brothers? Why must he abandon _us_ in our time of need?"

"He promised that we would be together," Vilkas replied. "And I have faith that it will be so."

Farkas sat down, but cast one last glance at Eirik and said: "Break your promise and I will personally hunt you down and destroy you!"

"What about you, Aela?" Vilkas asked.

"That Colovian bastard had a point," she stated, pointing towards the tent door. "If there's honor to be won in saving our people from extermination, then why should we stand on the side-lines and let it happen? Would it not be a greater honor to the name of Ysgramor and the Companions to...to fight against the elven oppressors?"

"I mean about Eirik staying here," Vilkas returned.

"I don't like it," she replied, turning to Eirik. "But if it's something you _have_ to do, then I understand."

Eirik nodded, then made his way out of the tent, to where Crixus was waiting for him. They would return to the city and perhaps pass a few hours in the Red Flagon, the local tavern. As he walked out, he saw Lydia stomping about the grassy lawn before the tents, carrying Lydia on her back.

"What's this, then?" Eirik asked with a smile.

"I'm a little wood elf riding a giant!" Lucia exclaimed. "Watch out, there's an ugly ogre coming out of the hills to eat us!"

"We're more than a match for any ogre, my lady!" Lydia replied in her best deep, playful voice.

Eirik smiled as he saw Lydia and Lucia capering about happily, both of them jeering at the imaginary ogre or swatting at it with invisible swords. Nearby he heard someone clearing his throat and, turning around, he saw Crixus standing at his right-hand side.

"Eirik the family man," he said. "I still don't believe it."

"Indeed?" Eirik returned. "Well, here's something _I_ don't believe. Your hatred of the Divines, faith and worship of any kind flies right in the face of your new belief of everything having a purpose."

"No, it doesn't," Crixus replied. "Just because I don't hold with the Divines or any gods and don't worship them myself, that doesn't mean they have no purpose. They help some ignorant people fight for something and can bring people together. They _do_ have a use, just not one for me."

Nearby Eirik heard a yelp and, turning, he saw Lydia and Lucia rolling on the ground, both of them lost in fits of laughing and giggling. Eirik ran over and lifted up Lucia, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulders.

"Come along now," he said. "We're off to see your mother." He turned to Lydia. "You two seem to be getting along rather well."

She nodded. "Yes, we are. I...well..."

"What's wrong?" both Eirik and Lucia asked at the same time, noticing Lydia's eyes welling up with tears.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "I'm just happy for you two, my thane."

Eirik nodded, but as he walked back to the gates of Evermore, his eyes were on Lydia, looking over her shoulder at them with sorrow in her eyes. He wondered why there seemed to be such sadness with her. He was determined to learn the reason, though she did not seem up to sharing at the moment.

* * *

><p>Twenty days passed in the city of Evermore. The Companions had long since left High Rock for Skyrim to reunify the Companions in Jorrvaskr, but there had been no word of their success or failure. By now the people of Evermore had ceased to become fearful of the newcomers - who were now reduced to three Imperials, one of them a child, and three Nords - and merely ignored them. There was still no news of Serana.<p>

While they always seemed to have money to stay in their rented house - though none of them knew where the money was coming from and Crixus was tight-lipped as usual - Eirik was growing restless. It had been a long time since he had swung a sword or fought in a bloody fight and battle-lust was growing within him. There had been no news from anyone in Skyrim, including the Sons of Skyrim, and he was worried about what would become of them.

Nevertheless, his lethargy was off-put by his duties as a surrogate father for Lucia. Both Mjoll and Crixus were surprised at how he seemed to dote upon the little adopted Lucia and care for her without a second thought, though she was a Colovian and he a Nord.

It was the evening of the twenty-second day of Midyear and though summer was already well on its way in Cyrodiil, the northern provinces, such as High Rock and half of Skyrim, were still cool and felt of autumn. Petruvius was entertaining Lucia back in the city while Eirik, Mjoll and Lydia sat out under the darkening sky, gazing at the sky. The five of them had gone out for a walk around the walls of Evermore and when Lucia grew tired, Petruvius took her back to their house. For now, however, the three of them who remained paused for a moment to sit down and enjoy the sky.

"The stars aren't very different here," Eirik stated. "Than in Skyrim."

"Not here in the north-east," Mjoll replied. "But in Wayrest and Daggerfall, you can start to see some of the western stars. I remember the first time I saw the western skies at night..."

Lydia rolled her eyes while Eirik wrapped his arm around Mjoll's shoulders and kissed her cheek.

"It's good to have you back," he said with a smile.

"It's good to _be_ out of those caves," Mjoll returned. "We have a long road ahead of us, my love. I want to see us walk it together."

Eirik kissed Mjoll, who then took his hand and placed it on her stomach. Gently he could feel, beneath her loosely-worn leather cuirass, the subtle movement of life beneath her.

"Well, I'm happy for you two," Lydia said, turning to her thane and his wife. "If I had my favorite cup, I'd drink to you two and your budding little family." She then paused, her mirthful tone becoming heartfelt for a moment. "Serving you two has been more than I could ask for."

"Well, _this_ is new!" Eirik replied jestingly. "You've usually never been this sentimental on us, Lydia."

"You know, my thane," Lydia said, shaking her head. "How I could never have a family of my own." She then turned back to them. "But you two...you _three_, soon to be four...you're like a family to me."

"And we've always seen you as family as well, Lydia," Mjoll replied.

"Is that why you and Lucia have been spending so much time together?" Eirik asked. When Mjoll turned to him, he nodded. "You should see them together, running, climbing, play-fighting."

"That's good," Mjoll returned. "She needs to feel welcomed with us."

"And that she will be," Eirik said.

"Just like old times, eh, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The three of us together again," she added. "Just as it was not but a year ago. Oh, how I've missed our adventures. But I don't miss not having a proper bed to sleep on."

"I guess I've grown used to sleeping out in the wilds," Mjoll replied. "I've been practically everywhere in Tamriel, sometimes I've had to sleep on the ground."

"Well, here we are," Eirik said. "Just as you say, Lydia..." He paused for a moment and rose up from where he lay on the ground next to Mjoll.

"What is it?" Mjoll asked.

"There's a rider," he said. "Coming this way from the east." He pointed towards the gathering darkness, where a small black dot appeared on the horizon, riding towards them.

"There it is!" Lydia stated. "I see it! Looks like a rider."

Presently the figure came close enough that they could make out that it was indeed a rider. Suddenly, however, the figure upon the horse quivered and fell onto the ground. Eirik helped Mjoll onto her feet, then ran off as fast as he could after Lydia to the fallen rider. She was already on her knees, examining the fallen rider. She appeared to be a Nord woman with dark hair.

"Looks like she's exhausted," Lydia said. "Her lips are parched and..." She reached for the rider's water-skin, still hanging from her neck on its leather strap, and turned it upside down. "...yep, it's empty."

"Wait, I know this woman," Eirik said as he looked at the face. "Gods, where have I seen this face before?"

"Yes," Lydia said. "I remember where you saw this face before, my thane. I was there as well. She was one of the Imperial delegation at the peace summit. She kept talking shit about Galmar. One would say they had a personal vendetta against the other with all the things they said."

"Is that all you remember?" Eirik asked.

"Rikke, I think her name is," Lydia replied. "Yes, that was it. She was a legate or something."

"What should we do?" Eirik asked.

"Take her inside, of course!" Mjoll, who had by now finally caught up with them, spoke. "We won't let her die just because she works for the Imperial Legion."

Eirik sighed, but nodded in agreement as he and Lydia helped lift Legate Rikke up onto her feet while Mjoll led her horse behind them.

* * *

><p>Crixus and the physician they had hired attended on Rikke in a separate room while the three Nords and Lucia waited in the living room downstairs. Lydia was looking at the cup in her hand disapprovingly: it was not her favorite tankard and she could feel it. Mjoll, who had long since given up mead and beer, was drinking chilled goat's milk which she shared with Lucia. Eirik kept eying the stairs leading to the top story, wondering what was going on behind closed doors up there. He did not have long to wait, for young Silenius Petruvius, the young squire who had fought Eirik in the archaic suit of armor, appeared at the top of the stairs.<p>

"Eirik," he called. "You're wanted up here. Crixus says its urgent."

With a sigh, Eirik made his way up the stairs and entered the room on the left, where the old Breton physician and Crixus stood over the bed where Legate Rikke lay. Crixus looked even graver than usual and did not notice Eirik's entrance into the room until Petruvius announced it.

"Hmm?" he said, as though absent-minded. "Oh, yes. Good. You're done here for the moment, master healer. Go downstairs, though: there's a pregnant Nord you might want to look up on, just in case she's doing well. He'll foot the bill for her examination." He pointed to Eirik.

Eirik rolled his eyes while the old physician walked slowly down the stairs. As his footsteps echoed down the creaking wooden steps, Petruvius closed the door and Crixus turned to Eirik, his face still stony and grim. Then without warning he punched Eirik in the face.

"You idiot!" he roared. "You straw-brained, mead-lapping, Talos-thumping, short-sighted, cox-combed fuck! This is all _your_ fault!"

"What is it this time?" Eirik groaned, wiping his mouth from blood. "And watch your..."

"I don't care!" Crixus continued. "You might have doomed us all, thanks to your actions!" He gestured towards Rikke. "Do you know what she told me? The Thalmor have troops in Skyrim, dumb-shite. The Thalmor! They've taken Solitude! They've made the first blow of the next stage of their war and it's all your fault!"

"Why me?"

"If you hadn't led your little rebellion," Crixus retorted. "Maybe Skyrim would be a bit more stable and this catastrophe wouldn't have happened!"

"So?" Eirik asked.

"So? So? So, you ignorant little c..."

"We know what has to happen now," Eirik said. "They've forced our hand and now we must act. We've been holed up in Evermore for far too long. It's time to strike back!"

"How?" Crixus asked. "The Legion has moved out of Skyrim and the garrisons on the western holds are scattered. Where will we find the troops to combat this?"

"I have at least two hundred in the southern holds," Eirik said. "Give me seven days and I'll have them ready to meet us in Rorikstead."

"What, your little band of rebels?" Crixus scoffed.

"Stormcloak soldiers, ex-Legionnaires," Eirik added. "The point is that Skyrim is their home. They will fight to the death for her, which is more than can be said about your Imperial garrisons, running at the first sign of trouble."

Crixus angrily punched the wooden beam of the wall behind Eirik, groaning with the pain of the blow. There was no purpose in raging against Eirik, as it would serve nothing but the satisfaction of his own anger. But that would not save Solitude or the Empire or Elisif. Slowly he turned back towards Eirik.

"So this is it, then?" he said. "We have no choice, do we? Stand as one or fall on our own?"

"I'm willing to join our forces," said Eirik. "For now...I will serve the Empire."

The ghost of a smile fluttered before Crixus' face. "I knew you had brains in you somewhere. Your father would have been proud."

"You knew my father?" Eirik asked.

"Don't you remember?" Crixus retorted. "I spoke about talking to him during the War...look, never mind. You're right: we _have_ been walled up in Evermore for far too long." He turned to Petruvius. "Go to Hjaalmarch, seek out Torgrim Stone-crusher. He's an ex-Legionnaire, he'll help you find some men. Tell them to make for Rorikstead. Once you're done there, go west to Sky Haven Temple, I'll give you directions. Tell Esbern to arm the Blades and make for Rorikstead as well."

"But the Blades are gone," Petruvius exclaimed.

"Not everything died out in the War, my friend," said Crixus. "Now move your arse!" He then turned to Eirik as Petruvius headed out the door. "You, get your little band of rebels together."

"And what will you do?" Eirik asked.

"Once Rikke awakes...Governor Rikke, that is," he said. "I'll have her seek out what's left of the western garrisons. She said they might be hiding in the mountains east of here. I, on the other hand, will be trying to recruit the High Rock Imperial Legion to our side. We're going to need all the help we can get."

"As you command," Eirik said jestingly. "My Emperor."

"Do I have to punch you again?" Crixus retorted.

Eirik swiftly left the room and bounded down the stairs to where Mjoll, Lydia and Lucia were waiting for him.

"Let's start packing up," he said once he reached the bottom stairs. "We're returning to Skyrim."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Finally the ball gets rolling again and we can start writing more interesting chapters! Ugh! In the end, i feel that i have mixed feelings about this story. Nothing happens for quite a while, but it does try to be a more serious story than <em>The Dragonborn and the Lioness<em>...and of course i'll try to top myself in _The Dragon of the South_ and go back to a lighter, more adventurous experience in _Hammerfell_.)**

**(Also, just as a side-note, when i say that some character is tearing, unless i specifically say so, they do not just convulse into a blob of quivering emotions. So far nobody really has done that as far as I can remember: its been very reserved, even in moments that could have totally called for an excess of emotion.)  
><strong>

**(Review!)**


	48. Strange Allies

**(AN: The Reach reminds me of the East Emnet from the _Lord of the Rings_, just for reference. Also there was something that was part of a sub-plot that i didn't really know if i could get away with. I had to come up with my own "identification" for a certain very common plant in Skyrim since i was not sure if pennyroyal exists in Tamriel.)**

**(Since we are nearing summer both in the story and where i live, i just thought i'd share a bit about how i feel the seasons work in Skyrim. In the game, there are no seasons. But in my mind, summer is never hotter than 70 degrees Fahrenheit in Skyrim [or 21 degrees Celsius for those who hate America]. Falkreath is at a lower elevation than Bruma, which is why there is more snow in Bruma than in Falkreath, and, of course, aspens turn vibrant green in the spring and summer [making the Rift look like a real life fairy tale forest]: probably the only areas that are permanently frozen all year around are the Throat of the World, Winterhold and the Pale. **

* * *

><p><strong>Strange Allies<strong>

Many days had passed since the retaliation had begun. Eirik and his family now rode with Servius Crixus, leading the reformed Haafingar Imperial garrison as well as the High Rock Legion over the border into Skyrim. Neither Lydia nor Petruvius had returned from their separate missions. All the pieces of the puzzle were in place, with the endgame swiftly on its way.

In a snowy pass somewhere in the heights of the Wrothgarian Mountains, the Legion troops were marching. They were at least three days away from Rorikstead and making good time. Only five days had been spent recruiting, with slightly adequate results. One hundred and fifty of the Haafingar garrison were reassembled with three hundred raised from the towns of Evermore, Jehanna, Farrun and Northpoint and one hundred hundred volunteers from the High Rock chapter of the Tamriel Fighters Guild. Another army of one hundred and fifty arrived from Orsinium under the command of Gorak the Giant-Tamer to join their army: at only seven hundred, the army would not pass muster for anyone.

Eirik rode his horse along the carts that had been brought forth for the battle. There were at least twenty carts in their little army: five of them carried equipment for building catapults and other equipments for a siege. Ten other carts carried supplies for the armies, which were large and considerable. Three of the carts carried other equipment and gear, supposedly from Hammerfell, with the last two being the ones Eirik was searching for. One only carried a wooden cask, while the other was a covered cart that seemed to be more suited for royalty. As he led his horse up towards the back of the cart, the back door of the cart was pulled open and Eirik saw Lucia beaming out at him.

"Papa!" she said with a smile.

"There you are!" Eirik exclaimed. "I was looking for you two."

"Mama's in here," Lucia said. "She wants to talk to you."

Eirik turned to one of the soldiers marching nearby and told him to take the reins while he dismounted and climbed into the carriage. Once inside, Eirik saw that the carriage seemed to have been made for some wealthy Imperial nobleman, for the carriage had polished wooden seats with cushions and partitioned windows with little curtains to pull over them and one curtain to divide the carriage in two down the middle. Inside there sat Lydia with Mjoll reclining at the rear, a smile on her face.

"Traveling in style, I see," Eirik said with a smirk.

"Another gift from Crixus," Mjoll returned. "Whatever happened to him in Orotheim has turned him into a different man."

"I'll say," Eirik replied, taking a seat on the cushioned seat across from Mjoll. "So, where is Grimsever?"

"It's underneath my seat," Mjoll said. "Whoever had this carriage built made a secret compartment beneath for storing weapons. My armor and the rest of your things are in here."

Eirik turned to Lucia, who was peering around the cabinets underneath the seats and pulled out a long, blackish animal skull whose eyes were glowing with a faint blue shine.

"That's Arvak's skull!" Eirik exclaimed, picking up the skull from Lucia's hands. "By Ysmir's beard, how did Crixus manage to find this?"

"That doesn't look like a person's skull," Lucia stated.

"It's because it's a horse's skull," Eirik replied. "I found it in a dark and terrible place. Serana can tell you that." Eirik turned to Mjoll. "Where is she, by the way?"

"Crixus said he's been talking with her," said Mjoll in response. "But I haven't seen her. Speaking of her, Crixus shared some of what he had heard from her about us."

"Us?"

"About your wound," Mjoll said. "And about that potion Tarvis kept trying to make me drink."

"What about it?"

"When we were tending your wound," Mjoll began. "Crixus asked us endlessly about what happened in the cave. Since Tarvis didn't drop the knife after he stabbed you, we had to guess what could be wrong. He was very nervous about it, very particular that we diagnose the poison in you correctly, as the wrong antidote could kill you."

"Wait, poison?"

"The knife was poisoned," Mjoll said. "Crixus seemed to know about that, since he told us that Tarvis had an affinity for brewing potions. When he said that, the potion he tried to make me drink came to mind and I opened my mind to him. Lucia knew a little bit about it."

"It had some sweet-smelling blue flowery plants in them," she stated. "Along with some other stuff I don't remember."

"The blue flowers," Eirik said. "I've seen them in the wilds on my travels across Skyrim."

"They're a kind of mint," Mjoll continued. "Serana, who knows a little about alchemy, told Crixus that these were a kind of mint that, if brewed properly, could create a potion that would..." She looked at Lucia, then turned back to Eirik and shook her head.

"She needs to know," Eirik returned. "No secrets from her."

"The potion," Mjoll continued. "Would kill my baby."

"But why did he want to hurt your baby?" asked Lucia.

"I don't know," Mjoll replied.

"Because it was not his," Eirik said. "And he escaped, so they told me."

"Escaped?" both Mjoll and Lucia asked almost as one.

"Yes," Eirik returned. "And he will try again. And we will be ready for him."

Lucia turned to Eirik. "You don't want to hurt Mama's baby, do you?"

"No," Eirik shook his head. "Never. The child is ours, and I love you both."

The little girl threw her arms around Eirik, and he patted her on the head. Eirik, meanwhile, allowed himself to relax for a while though they were on the road to war. For the time being, he was safe and so were Mjoll and Lucia, and that was enough for him.

* * *

><p>That night they camped in the mountain pass, with a guard posted around their camp-site. Nothing so much bothered them, though the guards did have to chase off a few wolves that tried to attack the rear of the camp near midnight. In the morning, however, all was packed up and they hit the road once again. They were leaving the mountains, but there was still quite a way to go before they left them aright. At the dawn of the second day, they had returned once again to Skyrim. The Reach opened up before them, green and gray, pitted with the many rocky gullies. As summer was well on its way, the weather was starting to get warm, though a faint chill still blew down upon them from the north, where gathering clouds glowered over the Sea of Ghosts. To the far east the heights of the Throat of the World loomed just at the edge of sight<p>

On and on they went, encountering no resistance along the way from any force as they made their way into the Reach. Gorak, who had gone ahead of their company to the Orcish fortresses, returned with one hundred and fifty more reinforcements. Now their ranks swelled to eight hundred and fifty, but still a petty number before what must surely be awaiting them deeper in the Fatherland.

At length the company halted during the middle of the day. Eirik leaped out of the carriage, took the palomino destrier that he had been riding, and rode to the front of the line, where sat Crixus atop his black mare. Next to him, atop another Nordic destrier, was Governor Rikke, clad in her typical Imperial armor. Before them Eirik saw a company of horsemen, with a much smaller number of footmen walking around them. Spurring his horse into action, Eirik rode out to meet them with Crixus bringing up the rear.

"Hail, Dragonborn!" Esbern greeted as they rode up to meet him.

"Which one do you speak to?" Eirik asked, still remembering the slight that had been given him by the Blades.

"Both of you," he said. "We have come in answer to your summons, to fight against the Dominion. The day of the vengeance of the Blades has come!"

"Aren't you too old to fight?" asked Crixus.

Esbern chuckled. "Sorry, you'll have to speak up, my hearing's not as good as it used to be."

"I said," Crixus repeated, shouting. "Aren't you too old to fight?!"

"I'm not going to be doing any fighting," Esbern retorted. "While you, Servius, might be a veteran of the great war, neither of you are strategists. Perhaps I might be of assistance in this matter?"

Crixus began sharing words with Esbern while Eirik dismounted and walked towards the foot soldiers. Here he saw the six members of the Companions. Some of them were sporting bandages over their bodies for the wounds they had received.

"Hail, Harbinger!" Vilkas greeted. "I hope that fate has fared better for you than for us."

"I take it we are still divided?" Eirik asked.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. "We are divided still."

"Three times," Aela retorted. "Three times since we left Evermore we fought to retake Jorrvaskr, and each of those times we were foiled. It is a disgrace to the Companions and the name of Ysgramor!"

"How did you fail?" Eirik asked.

"Njada has more than just one person on her side," said Vilkas. "Her numbers have increased to roughly three hundred. We have not been able to enter in through the gates of Jorrvaskr due to her."

"What about the book?"

"She burned it," Vilkas said. "She said to everyone that Kodlak was a fool who had forsaken the path of wisdom and fallen into folly."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Because," Farkas added. "He chose you over any of us."

"Why is that bad?"

"Forgive me, Harbinger," Vilkas returned. "But you were not experienced and had little honor to bring to the Companions. In her mind, the deaths of Vignar, Eorlund, Skjor and Kodlak meant that you were a threat to us and should be avoided."

"But what about you three?" Eirik asked.

"She said," Aela replied. "That if we forsook you and joined her in Jorrvaskr, there would be no hard feelings. That we would be welcomed back as shield-brothers and shield-sisters of Ysgramor."

Eirik sighed. "So why didn't you?"

"She's violated our laws," Vilkas said. "By selling the Companions out to the Imperial garrison in Whiterun! She's let Idolaf Battle-Born join the Companions, who have turned them into his own private army."

"As if he doesn't own half of Whiterun as it is!" roared Farkas.

"Our own scruples aside," Aela said, turning to Eirik. "You would be the better choice for Harbinger. If you treated us with the same kind of care and honor that you do your family, we would have nothing to worry about."

Eirik said nothing in immediate response as Crixus approached where he stood, a disgruntled look on his face.

"Fifty," he said. "I ask for an army and they give me fifty men!"

"The Blades suffered much during the Great War..."

"That's no excuse," said Crixus. "They've had twenty years. They should have rebuilt, recruited more members, had a standing army of a thousand ready to answer the summons of their Emperor!"

"There you go again!" Eirik said, turning to Crixus. "Calling yourself the..."

"_They_ believe it," Crixus stated, pointing to the fifty horsemen. "That's enough to get them to fight for me, and that's all that matters concerning them." He then noticed the Companions. "What about you lot? Have you changed your mind and decided to fight with us?"

"Our position remains the same," Aela returned.

"Then go back to your mead hall," Crixus said. "If you're too afraid to face a real war."

Farkas lunged towards Crixus, but was only held back by Vilkas, Aela and Hermir. Crixus, meanwhile, turned and walked back to where his horse stood, with Eirik following after him.

"Nine hundred soldiers," Crixus said to himself. "Not even a fourth of what I would have liked to lead into battle."

"We still have the Sons of Skyrim coming," said Eirik.

"At Rorikstead, right?" Crixus added. "Let's just hope we get there first before they decide to pillage it..._again!_"

"You know the Stormcloaks didn't sack Rorikstead..."

"I was talking about the Imperial garrison meeting your little bandit pack before we got there," said Crixus. "Oh and by the way, you're welcome for the carriage-ride."

"I..." Eirik stammered. "Thank you. I didn't think you were so considerate."

"Yeah? Well, I've seen five nephews born before the war broke out," said Crixus. "I know how things work."

"You seem to be rather different lately," Eirik said.

"Is that a fact?"

"We've all noticed, Mjoll and I," Eirik returned.

"That doesn't sound like everybody, does it?" Crixus asked.

"Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"Why do _you_?" Crixus retorted. "Look, all you need to know is that to my friends I am a god, but to my enemies, I'm the worst son of a b*tch they could possibly ever know, even if they were brought alive before Molag Bal to be arse-fucked by his mace!"

"Or," Eirik returned. "Maybe you actually _do_ want to become Emperor. And you're trying to get into my good graces with all of these favors of yours."

"What favors?" asked Crixus. "I just gave you a carriage and all of your gear. That's nothing a friend wouldn't do, especially if his wife was within months of her delivery. Now get on back to your carriage. It's two more days until we reach Rorikstead, provided we don't get ambushed in these damn gullies." He chuckled.

"What?"

"I remember the peace summit as well," he said. "It will be quite a sight, seeing Galmar Stone-'fister' meeting Governor Rikke again...and then learning he has to stop being a dumb Nord and fight _with_ her rather than against her."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Kind of just filler. Some nice little fluff with Lucia, and something of a conclusion to the Mjoll-kidnapping sub-plot. Also I wanted to have a carriage scene like the one in <em>Gladiator<em>.)  
><strong>

**(I spoke a little with my brother about what i had planned. His response? Magic! Magic solves everything, so use magic! His other response, particularly to the Companions issue, was that Njada is in the right because he hates having the whole world of Skyrim revolve around the Dragonborn [he'd rather have it revolve around some powerless noob like the Hero of Kvatch or, worse yet, an AMA/CHIM tv-headed racist like the Nerevarine!])  
><strong>

**(There's also a little bit of language in this chapter. I eventually decided to erase the "less frequent language" from the story description, since it doesn't seem that less frequent. Nevertheless, i will try to clean it up in the next few chapters.)**


	49. The Battle of the Plains

**(AN: Sparks will fly in this chapter... _twice!_ I also have to, unfortunately, bend to another epic story cliche: the big inspirational speech. Mostly because, as has been hinted in the previous two chapters, the Sons of Skyrim, a heavily anti-Imperial guerrilla force, will have to join forces with the Empire for this and some of them doubtless will see this as a betrayal on the part of Eirik the Dragonborn. That's two major cliches in this story! Oh well, there will NEVER be a "the Thalmor are out there somewhere" or a big negotiation scene.)**

**(There are only two non-Nords in the Companions in the game and so far that is still somewhat the same in this story: all we have are Athis the Dunmer and Ria the Imperial, so i don't know what i could do as far as they go. Yes, Wuuthrad will return and yes, i intentionally made in the dialogue a reference to Tiber Septim/Wulfharth [lol, the "Old Knocker" story even reminded me of that episode in _Dexter's Laboratory_ where he and Dee Dee turned everyone into babies...and i imagined a big strong, _ESO_-trailer-esque Nord speaking in Dexter's voice "Babies! Babies! BABIES!"])**

**(Okay, enough silliness...on with the story!)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Battle of the Plains<strong>

Old Rorikstead, a hamlet on the edge of the hold of Whiterun and the Reach, which at one time had belonged to the wild men of the Reach rather than the Nords. Like Governor Rikke from her exhaustion, it had recovered nicely. The army of nine hundred had not yet made camp, for they were now waiting for their last allies. It was the 30th Day of Midyear, the deadline Eirik had given himself for the assemblage of the Sons of Skyrim.

Eirik now sat atop the palomino destrier opposite Crixus outside the township of Rorikstead. The scouts had spotted the Sons of Skyrim making their way westward towards the town as instructed. Crixus was not in a pleasant mood and neither was Governor Rikke, sitting atop a brown war-horse on Crixus' right-hand side.

"We shouldn't be allying with such mongrels," Rikke said to Crixus.

"They're _your_ people, governor," he returned.

"They're rebels!" she retorted. "Little better than bandits! Mark my words, they _will_ turn against us the moment they see our banners."

"No they won't," said Crixus. "Our friend here will make sure of that."

"And you trust _him_?" she asked cynically.

"I'm right here!" Eirik stated. "I can hear you."

"Good," Rikke retorted. "I want you to know what I think of you."

"What reason do _you_ have to be upset?" Eirik asked. "You're the ones who violated the treaty and stole victory from the Stormcloaks."

"We violated nothing!" Rikke retorted. "It was _your_ friend Ulfric who ordered the attack on Rorikstead, violating the treaty in truth!"

"Do you still believe those elvish lies?" asked Eirik in reply. "Besides, who's to blame for the holds that mysteriously fell to Imperial control _before_ the attack on Rorikstead?"

"Smart, loyal people seeing the error of their ways," Rikke returned. "The Empire did not _take_ them, they came to us! The Empire behaves fairly to her friends."

"Keep on thinking that," Eirik groaned.

"Legate," Rikke said, turning to Crixus. "We have the rebels where we want them. Once they're within distance, let me give the order and I'll bring you their heads."

"Just like your noble and fair Empire," Eirik returned. "Maybe while you're at it, you can send your Dunmer cohorts to assassinate me and my family in my sleep?"

"How dare you!" Rikke retorted angrily. "The Empire does not assassinate anyone!"

"No," Eirik returned. "You just wait until they come in peace and turn your swords on them. Gods, are you _sure_ you're from Skyrim? I heard a lot of this Colovian double-talk in Bruma, where they've all but forsaken our heritage."

"Let's just kill him now," said Rikke to Crixus. "We'll have nothing but discord with _their_ lot. They'll harm us as badly as the enemy!"

"We need numbers on our side," said Crixus. "Even if that means siding with..." He cast his eyes at the small host approaching from the east. "..._them_."

"You're plotting my death right under my very ears?" Eirik asked. "You do know who I am, don't you?"

Rikke scoffed. "And you expect me to bend weak-kneed before any brigand who calls himself 'Dragonborn?' You're just another Ulfric Stormcloak, shouting down all who question you like some childhood bully."

Suddenly, just beyond upon the emerald ocean of the plains of Whiterun, there was a battle-cry heard and the host began picking up their pace.

"They've seen our banners," Crixus said.

"I _knew_ this would happen!" Rikke retorted. "You can't trust rebels to honor anything!"

"You are a Nord!" Eirik shouted, turning to Rikke.

"So?" she returned. "Does that mean I have to act like a drunken brute?"

"You shame your people, lap-dog," Eirik said as he kicked the horse's flanks and held on for dear life. Riding as swift as the wind, the plains flew around him like a green mirage, until he could see the lines of the Sons of Skyrim before him, charging with the fury of the ancient Nord berserkers. He pulled on the reins, the horse rearing up on its hind legs before the vanguard. Here they halted as they saw just who it was who was standing before him, having recently come from the lines of the Imperial Legion.

"Eirik!"

"It's the Dragonborn!"

"What's he doing over there?"

"Is he with the Empire now?"

"Has he abandoned us?"

"Who will lead us now?"

"Traitor!" Galmar roared. He strode out from among the ranks to the front of the Sons of Skyrim, an angry look in his eyes. "You gave Skyrim to the Empire on a silver platter at the peace summit, then you refused to help the Stormcloaks, now you bring us out to be slaughtered by the Imperial Legions?"

"Listen," Eirik began. "I know how this looks, but you have to trust me..."

"Trust you?" roared Svenn. "You abandoned us for almost a month! Do your people mean so little to you?"

"Does Skyrim mean nothing to you?"

"He's sold us out to the Empire!"

"Let's kill him!"

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Eirik shouted into the air.

The peeling, thunderous sound of Eirik's Thu'um got the attention of everyone, especially the Sons of Skyrim. He now looked at those who stood before him. All the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim were present, and behind them were at least a hundred new people who had joined in the recent months. Though he knew some of them personally, others were merely farm-folk, hunters, fishermen, peasant-types. Not worth the muster of the intellectuals and high society folk of Cyrodiil, but they were the heart and soul of Skyrim. They had been weaned on the legends of the Dragonborn and came to the Sons of Skyrim, looking to him to save them from the evils of the era. Now it appeared to them that they had been betrayed by the only person who had cared enough to save them.

"I know what you see before you," he said. "Is not what you were expecting. It is true that we have fought the Empire before and slain the blood of many who wear the Red Diamond. There will be no apology, no excuse for our actions: we fought them because they served the interest of the Dominion, the elves who would see your homes destroyed, your lands burned, your men, women, children and elders slain. We will never be sorry for this!"

Several of those in the crowd murmured in agreement, but the rest remained silent.

"Ulfric Stormcloak didn't side with no Empire!" one shouted. "_He_ was a true hero for the people of Skyrim!" This sent up a great many cheers from the Sons of Skyrim.

"I am not Ulfric Stormcloak!" Eirik returned, his anger rising. "I am the Dragonborn, the Bear of Eastmarch, Harbinger of Ysgramor's Companions, and I am a child of this land, just the same as you. Yes, it is true that Ulfric Stormcloak was a great hero, and his name _will_ be remembered as one who stood for his people when the Empire stood for elvish interests over those of its own people, the children of Skyrim. Today, the Empire does not fight for the interests of a few elves in their ivory towers a thousand miles away. Today we do not fight for the Empire: today the Empire fights for us!"

There was no response, not even a cheer or murmur of agreement or disagreement. Several nodded, but they kept their peace, their eyes watching the Dragonborn.

"Good people of Skyrim," Eirik said. "I go to fight the Dominion. What will you do? Will you turn back to your homes in fear, or will you go with me to Solitude to kick their yellow asses back into the sea?"

All the voices rose up in loud cheers and cries, with weapons clanging against each other or hammering against shields. Atop his horse, Eirik then led them towards the main army. While they were yet walking there, he rode towards the front of the line, to where Crixus and Rikke sat on their horses.

"Nice speech," Crixus said. "Really shows what kind of a boring, typical Nord you are."

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"'Kick their yellow arses back into the sea?'" asked Crixus. "You sound just like Ulfric!"

"I've had enough of these Thalmor and their schemes," Eirik said. "Skyrim belongs to her people and should be governed by them, not by some elf in an ivory tower on the Summerset Isles."

"No," Rikke returned. "Skyrim belongs to the Empire."

"Still," Crixus said to Eirik. "You served your purpose. Your people will fight for us?"

"My people," Eirik returned. "Fight for their land."

"They fight for the Empire, nothing else," Crixus replied. "Do you understand that?"

Eirik looked upon Crixus and Rikke angrily. He soon realized that, at heart, Crixus was still the same person with the same prejudices and beliefs. What indeed had changed in High Rock from the Servius Crixus he knew, he had no idea.

Presently, the Sons of Skyrim approached the lines of the main army. More than a few murmurs echoed among the troops at both the quality of the newcomers as well as their size. Crixus also looked disapprovingly at those before them.

"Too few," he sighed. "Too few have come."

"Shor's balls!" roared Galmar. "Come to do the Empire's dirty work again, Rikke?"

"Galmar," Rikke retorted from atop her horse. "It's a pity those elves didn't kill you at Windhelm. It would be nothing less than you deserve, child-killer!"

"At least I would have died with my honor," Galmar retorted. "And not cowered behind that uniform as the Empire's whore!"

"I am nobody's whore!" Rikke shouted back.

"Except the Thalmor's," said Galmar.

"Look around you, old man!" Rikke said. "Do you see any Thalmor here? We're fighting to clean up _your_ mess!"

"Started by _your_ Empire!" Galmar retorted.

"Oh, get over yourself already, Galmar!" said Rikke, rolling her eyes. "Your Ulfric Stormcloak is dead, stop kissing his ass already. Your cause is lost, but now we need to fix what _you've_ started!"

"I won't stand for this insult!" roared Galmar, turning to Eirik. "I hold you responsible for this! We should have gone about killing every gold-skinned, pointy-eared bastard in Skyrim, not playing a petty land grab!"

"Yes, dog, bark!" said Rikke with a smile. "Show all those here why Skyrim _needs_ the Empire! Because you're all a bunch of ignorant, drunken, rabble-rousing, mischief-making, war-mongering..."

"You're a Nord!" Eirik shouted.

"You're a disgrace to your own people, b*tch!" said Galmar.

"Oh, shut up, all of you!" Crixus retorted. "Molag's c..."

"What is it this time?" Eirik asked.

"She's right," said Crixus. "You Nords _are_ a trouble. I should also add dishonorable as well."

"Not all Nords are like that," Rikke said. "Those in the Imperial Legion are honorable."

"Cowards and traitors they are!" Galmar roared.

"Alright, that's it!" Rikke fumed, turning to Crixus. "Fuck your truce, Colovian. I'm going to teach this old bastard some respect for the Legion!" With that, Rikke began pushing herself out of the saddle when, standing on her right foot, she cried out in pain, almost falling until she grabbed the horse's reins. She now limped towards Galmar, sword in hand, while he laughed at the sight.

"Rikke Half-Foot!" he stated. "How can you expect to fight anyone when you can't even stand on your own feet?"

"If I were a man," Rikke grunted as she hobbled towards Galmar. "I'd fight with a sword in my balls!"

"Silence!" Crixus shouted. "You Nords will be the death of us! Eirik, they're _your_ men. Restore order, if that's even possible for you Nords to do!"

"She's a Legionnaire," Eirik said. "What can I do? Isn't that your call, Emperor?"

"Emperor?" both Galmar and Rikke said as one, turning to Crixus.

Crixus swore and turned angrily to Eirik. "Can you not keep your mouth closed for just one moment?"

"Just hold on now," said Rikke. "What do you mean by Emperor?"

"Ask him," Eirik said, gesturing to Crixus.

But at that moment, as the last of the lines of the Sons of Skyrim approached the main army, one lone rider was seen galloping at the rear, exhausted from a swift journey. Eirik's anger subsided when he saw who it was galloping slowly towards him.

"Four hundred," said Lydia. "Since we left, the Sons of Skyrim have nearly doubled in size."

"Lydia!" Eirik said happily as she approached.

"_This_ is four hundred men?" Crixus scoffed, gesturing to those around him. "Oh, but of course! You Nords don't even know how to count!"

"Galmar," Eirik said, turning to the old Nord beside him. "How many are here?"

"One hundred of our strongest," he returned. "We had to leave behind a garrison in case the Thalmor..." His eyes turned angrily to Rikke. "...or the Empire, try anything while we're away. One in Falkreath, one in Riften."

"You left the majority of our forces behind?" Eirik asked, anger rising up in himself now.

"All the Firstborn are here," Galmar retorted. "They're easily better than any of these Imperial milk-drinkers!"

"Elf-haters and baby-killers, the lot of them!" said Rikke.

"Perhaps," Eirik said jestingly from atop his horse. "They were once in _your_ legions."

* * *

><p>In the end, it was decided that when the army made camp outside of Rorikstead, the Sons of Skyrim would camp outside of the main camp for the safety and morale of the rest of the troops. They had no tents and so they slept around the carriage that carried Mjoll, with a fire burning before them while the Imperial camp was filled with tents and many camp-fires blazing in the darkness. Tonight was the last day of Midyear, and soon the army would be marching north, towards Solitude.<p>

In the carriage, Eirik and Mjoll were resting with Mjoll's head against Eirik's shoulder. Lucia had fallen asleep while feeling the baby move and her head had fallen on Mjoll's stomach: she didn't seem to mind and didn't want to awake Lucia. While Mjoll seemed rather peaceful, Eirik was restlessly looking out towards the door of the carriage, where light from the camp-fire of the Sons of Skyrim danced just outside of reach.

"What's wrong?" Mjoll whispered.

"Hmm?"

"With you," she said. "You seem distracted and distant. Something's bothering you."

"I just don't know anymore," Eirik sighed. "The Sons of Skyrim were made to stand up against the Dominion, now that we're going to do that, there's nothing but trouble. There have been fights I've had to mediate every two seconds with the Imperials in the army and the Sons of Skyrim. It's just too much of a bother to mean anything anymore. Oh, why don't we just disband and go home, huh? Let Crixus do all the fighting for once. We have a house to build, a family to begin, we can't be...going off to war like this. Not anymore."

"I understand what you mean, my love," Mjoll returned. "But there is something that you're forgetting."

"What's that?" Eirik asked.

"I am fighting that very same battle."

"You are?"

She nodded. "It hasn't been easy, carrying this child of ours. I've been sick, hungry, exhausted, hot, cold, sad and happy all at the same time, and the worst is yet to come. I've had to keep away from drinking - never tell a Nord woman she can't drink, by the way." This elicited laughs from both of them.

"I almost feel," Mjoll continued. "Like I did in Riften, you know, before I met you. When Grimsever was lost. Aerin and I would go out into the woods, but never very far. I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I feel that way now. It bothers me that I cannot run as fast as I could, or swing a sword with the same vigor as before, or walk the land of Skyrim with you as before or stand at your side with my sword in hand as before."

"I'm sorry," Eirik replied.

"Don't be," Mjoll said, lifting her head up off Eirik's shoulder to look him in the eye. "Because I chose this. I love you and I wanted to have this child."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Because if there was even a chance of you destroying the World-Eater, then I would have wanted to share with you the happiness of a new life. And I would do it again if given the choice. Because every good thing comes with a sacrifice."

Eirik sighed and planted a kiss on Mjoll's cheek. Her words sank into his mind as he pondered them in the silence that followed, broken only by a distant peel of laughter from the Sons of Skyrim outside the carriage. He had no other choice. Torn between his loyalties, he had to do something. As hard as it was, he had to make a sacrifice as well. Silently, he prayed to the Nine that they give him the strength to endure what was before him.

While he was thus thinking, there was a rap on the door of the carriage. Quietly, Eirik extricated himself from Mjoll and walked over to the door, pushing it open to see young Petruvius panting, out of breath, standing before the door of the carriage.

"You're wanted in the main camp," he said. "Crixus' orders."

Mumbling something about not being a slave, Eirik followed Petruvius out of the Sons of Skyrim camp, across the short field of one hundred feet to the camp of the main army. They passed the supply wagons, with a Breton and two female Orcs in Legionnaire armor carrying crates of dried, salted meat to their camps. They made their way through the Orc tents, looking always for the largest tent. Past the Orc tents they saw a cluster of Legion-style tents made of clean leather. Here Petruvius led Eirik to the largest tent, which was adorned on its sides with the Red Diamond of Tiber Septim's Empire. Inside, Eirik saw Crixus standing there over a map of Skyrim placed upon a make-shift table. Around him stood Rikke, Esbern, Delphine, Gorak and, standing roughly as tall as Gorak, one that Eirik had not seen since the Red Dog.

"Hello, little man," Torgrim said as Eirik stepped into the tent.

"Glad you could join us," Crixus said.

"What's so important at this hour?" Eirik asked.

"Torgrim, you tell him," Crixus said.

"Word has reached Dawnstar," he said. "Of an army marching out of the west, an army of men and Orcs. The Dominion army in Dawnstar..."

"Wait a minute," Eirik interrupted. "They have an _army_?"

"Three of them," said Crixus, pointing to the map. "One in Whiterun, one in Dawnstar, and the largest one here in Solitude. They were counting on you arse-holes to keep the borders closed in the south." He turned back to Torgrim. "Continue."

"As I was saying," boomed Torgrim in his deep voice. "The Dominion army in Dawnstar has gotten wind of our operation. When I arrived in Morthal to gather reinforcements, there were already rumors of their army marching south-west, towards the plains of Whiterun."

"How many?" Eirik asked.

"No word yet on their numbers," said Torgrim.

"How long until they reach the plains?" asked Crixus.

"They'll have to cross the ever-cold reaches of the Pale," Torgrim said, pointing to the lands immediately south-west of Dawnstar. "Then hope that they can find a path through the Hjaalmarch. At the worst, I'd give them four days before they reached us."

"Will we be ready by then?" Crixus asked, speaking first to Torgrim. "Are your men rested and ready?"

"Rested? No," Torgrim replied. "But we're always ready to fight."

"Esbern," Crixus said. "As the commander of our army, I name the Blades as my tribunes. You will take personal command of the divisions when we strike the field. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Esbern replied, bowing before Crixus, who rolled his eyes but strangely did not make a scene.

"Gorak," he said. "Have your troops find suitable trees nearby to cut down for spikes. We're going to be ready for the Dominion when they come for us."

"Yes, sir," Gorak replied.

"Eirik," Crixus said, turning to Eirik. "Have you ever played gess?"

"I-what?" Eirik asked.

"I suppose you haven't," Crixus said. "Not something I'd expect a Nord to know about anyway. It's a strategic board game, invented by the High Elves, played mostly in high society, so...not anywhere you'd be familiar..."

"Get to the point!"

"When you make your first move," Crixus reasoned. "Always move first the pieces you can afford to lose first. The Sons of Skyrim will lead the charge."

"You want to kill off our greatest warriors first?" Eirik asked.

"Isn't that what you Nords want?" Crixus asked. "A glorious death in battle, Skyrim for the Nords, sovereign-guard and all that bull-shite? Besides, it's not like I'm sending your army first and then having everyone else pull back."

"This is outrageous!" Eirik retorted.

"Feel free to disobey my orders if you wish," Crixus said. "Just remember that, if you do, you have the Dominion in front and the majority of _my_ army behind you."

"Well done, sir," Rikke said with a smile.

Eirik lumbered out of the tent angrily, feeling once again betrayed. Was this his lot in life, to be continuously misled by Crixus to his downfall? Once more he prayed to the Nine: this time for himself, that he survive to return to Mjoll and his children. This done, he made his way through the tents back to the carriage. He had a long few days ahead of him.

* * *

><p>The fourth day of Sun's Height dawned cool and clear across the green seas of the plains of Whiterun. The day of battle had come at last. Upon the fields two miles east of Rorikstead the armies of the Imperial Legion, the Orcs of Orsinium and the Blades were gathered together, their flanks protected by wooden stakes fastened into the ground over the past few days. Before them a little stood the one hundred Sons of Skyrim, led by Eirik Bjornsson the Dragonborn. All told, the armies that took the field to the west numbered roughly one thousand strong. Though the full number of the enemy was unknown, they all feared that their numbers would be larger.<p>

At the front of the main army, under the Red Diamond of Cyrodiil and the four banners of Evermore, Jehanna, Farrun and Northpoint - the Fox, the Lady, the Prancing Deer and the Wolf - as well as the red wolf of Haafingar and the emblem-less Orc banners, stood the commands of the army. Crixus sat atop his horse, with Rikke and Esbern to his right and Torgrim and Gorak to his left. Far before them stretched the green plains of Skyrim, with the sun shining down directly ahead of them. Several yards out stood the Sons of Skyrim, the shock troops for the battle. Beyond them a line of gold indicated the approach of the army of the Aldmeri Dominion.

"Remember," Crixus said to those around him. "We do not charge out onto the field once the battle is joined. A smaller force can last longer if they fight defensively. Am I understood?"

The three around him nodded in affirmation, though Rikke was watching Crixus. As he turned to face Gorak and Torgrim, Rikke waved her hand to those behind her. A line of Imperial archers approached the front-lines, setting up directly behind the main front-line. It didn't take Crixus long to realize this, for the movement of troops could not be disguised forever.

"What's going on here?" Crixus asked, looking at each of those captains around him. "Why are the archers moving into position? I gave no such order!"

"_I_ did," Rikke said.

"We still have men on the field!" Esbern said, gesturing to the Sons of Skyrim beyond.

"Nords do not run from battle, Crixus," Rikke said, turning to her left. "It is a great dishonor."

"Are you seriously suggesting killing our men before the battle starts?" asked Crixus.

"_You_ were the one," Rikke replied. "Who agreed to send them to the front-lines."

"Only because you were being a little b...baby," Crixus replied, pausing before saying something that would erupt into possibly more violence. "You wouldn't stand with rebels, remember?"

"Exactly," said Rikke, her eyes narrowing with disgust as she looked eastward. "We still have the greater part of our army, and when they are removed, we will charge the Dominion lines: two enemies will be destroyed in one battle."

"What makes you think they will be destroyed?" asked Crixus.

"There's only a hundred of them!" laughed Rikke. "What can _they_ do?"

* * *

><p>On the field of battle, the Sons of Skyrim watched as the gold-clad Dominion army slowly advanced towards them. Eirik was at the front of the host, eying the elves before him. They were outnumbered, with no chance of escape. But Eirik had faced outnumbering odds before and come out triumphant. He had told as much to Mjoll and to the others. While Mjoll was worried but eventually relented, the Sons of Skyrim were less easy to please.<p>

"It's another trick by _your_ Imperial friends," Galmar had said. "They want to have us and the elvish army eradicated in one blow. Mark my words, they will betray us!"

But the time for debates was past. Eirik stood on the field, Galmar to his left, Lydia to his right and the Sons of Skyrim all around and behind him. The Companions, refusing to take the field, he had sent to bring back something from his chest in the Lakeview Manor construction site. If he didn't survive, the axe would pass down to them and they would elect a new Harbinger or join Njada if they so desired.

He gazed out on the battlefield, his palms sweating upon the hilt of his sword. More and more he found himself being thrown into these situations, all of them of his own choosing. But instead of Windhelm, here the enemy was actively trampling upon his homeland. He wished that things had gone differently, that the peace he had worked so hard to make lasted and he was able to settle down with Mjoll at Lakeview and raise a family in the days that followed. But such was his fate, and he, unlike Crixus, would stare fate down, look it in the eyes, and face it with no fear.

"Whatever happens next," Eirik said to those around him. "I want you all to know that it has been an honor fighting with you. You're all heroes to me, now let's prove it to the gods."

Cries of triumph rose up from those around him and, just behind, he heard Angrim and Falke sharing a few words.

"Feeling tired, old man?" Falke asked.

"On the contrary," Angrim replied. "I'm as strong now as you are at your age. Sovngarde still waits for me."

"How about a little wager?" Falke returned. "First one to Sovngarde sets the table for the other."

Angrim laughed. "I'll take that wager. And when we _do_ arrive, I'll have to introduce you to my family. Many branches of my family tree are waiting for me now in Shor's Great-Hall of Valor."

"_For Skyrim!_" Eirik suddenly shouted. All the Sons of Skyrim rose their voices as one, taking up the same shout over and over. Three times they shouted, until the entire field rang with the sound of their voices.

Eirik was the first to take the field, running out with the Great-sword of the Skaal in his hands. Behind him ran Lydia, her shield swinging from her left arm. Behind them ran the Sons of Skyrim in a loose formation. Every voice was lifted up in cries of battle as their feet pounded upon the ground like a charging horde of mammoths. The distance was swiftly being closed and Eirik, at the head of the army, could see the golden lines of the Dominion turning into companies and troop formations.

Suddenly there was a bright, blue-white flash that seemed to come from the sun. From above there came a wave of light blue light, conjured arrows from the bows of the Dominion forces. Though the lines of the Sons of Skyrim were loose and many arrows missed them, many found their mark. No armor or shield could keep them out, save the dragon-bone armor of the Dragonborn, forged from the bones of dragons, old as Mundus, which no mere elvish sorcery could break. Through the hail of arrows charged Eirik, until he could now see the individual Dominion soldiers in their ranks. Soldiers were clad in gold, with their captains in glistening green malachite, and the sorcerers in the black robes of the Thalmor. The archers behind the front-line were devastating the Sons of Skyrim, and he needed to send them running before they caused more damage.

"_**YOL...TOOR**** SHUL!**_" Eirik shouted, swiftly waving his head before him.

A blaze of fire burst from Eirik's mouth in a giant wave, scorching the front three lines of the Dominion in a wide arc twenty-five feet wide before him. Before the might of the Thu'um, no elf could stand and those not instantly incinerated fled back, throwing down their hot weapons in fear. Those who remained saw with terror as the Dragonborn, the hero of the Nordic people, strode through the flames that had burst from his mouth, sword in hand and fury in his eyes.

Eirik laid into the scattered front-lines, hacking an elf soldier completely in half with one swipe of his sword, cutting through their flimsy, light, golden Aldmeri armor. Two more ran at him, shields held perpendicular to the ground with their swords held back, parallel to the ground. Eirik knocked the shield out of the hand of the one and took off the head of the other. As the first one was recovering, Eirik thrust his sword into the elf's chest, then quickly pulled it back out as more charged towards him.

By now the flames around him were subsiding and the host of the Sons of Skyrim struck the golden wall of the Aldmeri army. There was no relenting now, no going back as soon as Northern steel clashed with elvish blades and shields. The blast of fire coupled with the initial shock cost the Dominion lines dearly. Furthermore, the Altmer and the Nords could not possibly be different. They had spent all of their lives in the luxury and quiet of Alinor, studying magic and education and only joining the army as an honor to their family, to the Thalmor and to their race. Lastly, their lives of peace, quiet and education had rendered them thin, frail and useful only insomuch as the field of magicka was concerned.

On the other hand, their opponents lived harsh, cruel and sometimes brutally short lives in the wilds of Skyrim, considered by the 'elite' upper class of Alinor, Cyrodiil, Morrowind and Hammerfell to be one of the most dangerous places in Tamriel: _that_ was their playground. From birth they were trained to be warriors, taught how to fight at an early age, and that death in battle was the warrior's path to Sovngarde, the way of all Nordic people. Many in the Sons of Skyrim were, indeed, only peasants who had recently picked up a sword or axe, but some of them were also ex-Legionnaire. They had fought the Dominion before, they knew their weaknesses, they knew how to defeat them. For them, all of them from the youngest farmer to the oldest ex-Legionnaire, joining the Legion or the Stormcloaks or the Sons of Skyrim was more than just to honor a leader. They fought for the fun of it, they fought for Sovngarde, they fought for vengeance, they fought to keep the land beneath their feet, what the blood of heroes had long ago bought at the highest price. And while lately they had come to distrust magicka, they were lively, strong and physically outmatched even the tall Altmer of the Summerset Isles. Every death of their comrade by their side only emboldened their anger and their resolve against their foe.

* * *

><p>At the main army, the commanders watched as the Sons of Skyrim charged into the ranks of the Dominion army, until the battle field was only a haze of black and gold. They had seen the flash, but it was not to their harm, only to those grunts they had sent out to die before the main army. But as the battle waged on, they watched as the main force was holding the Dominion army at bay.<p>

"Gods!" Rikke swore. Turning to Crixus, she saw that he wore a smug smile on his face. "What are you so happy about?"

"He did exactly as I thought he would," said Crixus. "Typical Nord battle strategy: the _only_ Nord battle strategy, I might add. Run towards your enemy and hit them to death as hard as you can." He laughed.

"They put us to shame," said Rikke, gazing eastward, towards the Sons of Skyrim.

"Maybe they put _you_ to shame," Crixus retorted. "But not me. I see an idiot's oversight. They charged out without support, leaving them open for the Aldmeri cavalry to strike them down from behind."

"You were the one to send them out alone," Torgrim added.

"Shut up, Torgrim!" Crixus said, then turned to his friend and whispered; "I only did that because Rikke refused to fight with them. Personally, it's a damn waste of troops. But I have to be leader of a coalition, so I have to maintain order."

"How do you know the Dominion have cavalry?" asked Rikke.

"Only an idiot like Eirik," Crixus returned. "Would go into battle without cavalry. Safe to say, with that volley of conjured arrows, the Dominion aren't idiots. They _will_ have cavalry."

"We don't have that many," Esbern added. "Even if we collected all our captains and commanders, we would have fewer than..."

"Get your Blades together," Crixus said. "I'll lead you myself to their succor."

"No, stop!" Rikke spoke up. "It's beneath you to go after them. They're not really worth that much."

"They're our own people, governor!" Torgrim stated.

"They're rebels!" Rikke returned. "I thought you were as loyal to the Empire as I am, Torgrim."

"Civil war's over," said Torgrim. "Nords don't need to be fighting Nords no more."

"Where do your loyalties lie, Torgrim?" Rikke asked.

"No milk-drinker would charge an overwhelming host like that," said Torgrim, gesturing to the battle before them.

"You think too highly of him," Rikke said through clenched teeth.

"Think what you will," said Crixus. "But I'm positive the elves will send cavalry to flank them. Esbern! Where are my Blades?"

"Right away, sir!" Esbern replied, stirring his horse into action and galloping towards the nearest commander of the cohorts.

* * *

><p>On the field of battle, the green plains of Whiterun were being painted red with blood. Bodies lay broken and bloodied upon the ground, or burned in the flames of Eirik's Thu'um. But not all those who had fallen were elves alone. Twenty of the Sons of Skyrim lay dead upon the field, cut down by elvish blades or conjured arrows. Those who remained looked like the servants of Namira, rotten and depraved cannibals covered in blood.<p>

As the Sons of Skyrim were slowly being whittled down by the overwhelming numbers of the Dominion army, Eirik began to organize several of those in the back to build a barricade of elvish bodies, which they would use as a bulwark and redoubt. The front-lines kept the enemy busy while the shade of Felldir the Old fought along-side Eirik and Lydia. Eirik, meanwhile, was pushing himself harder than he had ever pushed himself before. Between heavy gasps for air from fighting for about an hour in heavy dragon-bone armor against many foes and Shouting as soon as he felt capable, he had no time to rest. The shout to summon Felldir had taken its toll on him and there was little time left for him to remain.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" shouted Feldir.

The elven lines were scattered like chaff, while Eirik stood his ground next to Felldir, sword in hand. His Voice was still not strong enough to continue Shouting, but he saw Felldir turn to him.

"I must depart soon," he said. "Though I should tell you that there is one who has been granted permission by the gods to come down at your summons to this great battle."

"Yeah?" Eirik returned. "I'll keep that in mind."

The shade of Felldir vanished before his eyes, replaced by an elvish lieutenant, clad in malachite armor. He swung his great-sword across, but the elf captain was quick and blocked the blow with his shield. As he brought his sword out to stab Eirik, another sword from seemingly nowhere ran the elf through the plates of his armor. Then a shield pushed him back and a steel-clad warrior ran their sword through the elf's face. As the warrior rose and turned to Eirik, he saw that it was Lydia.

"We're losing too many," she said.

"You seem alright," Eirik replied.

"Watch out!" Lydia shouted.

Three more elvish soldiers charged them at once. Up went Lydia's shield as Eirik cracked the breast-plate of another with a slash of his great-sword. The elf staggered, but his comrade charged forward, shield up, swinging with his sword-hand. Their shield-holding position was all wrong in Eirik's mind. As he was swinging back for another blow with the sword, Eirik seized him by the neck and slammed him down to the ground. Pulling back, he brought the sword down into the elf's neck. Behind him, the third elvish soldier was tackled by Lydia, who rammed her blade into the elf's face, then pulled herself up as she saw the third elf, only dazed, coming back to attack Eirik from behind. With both hands, she drove her sword into the elf's back, taking him down at the last minute before strike, his blade clanging weakly against Eirik's back.

Another elf charged from the opposite side when suddenly his head was crushed within his helmet as a mace crashed against his temple, killing him in one fell blow. Falke, who wielded the mace, was laughing, face covered in blood, as he moved from soldier to soldier, crushing skulls and bashing faces in. In one large circle Noralv swung his war-hammer, breaking bones of any who dared attack him. Thorald, Lalla and Inghild stood as one, shields up with axes and sword keeping the elves at bay. Ralof, Calder and Dynthor were fighting back to back, painting the grass at their feet with blood, sending body after body down before them. An elf broke through the melee and charged towards the shield-wall, but Galmar hacked off the elf's sword hand with one swipe of his battle-axe.

As Eirik watched the reckless fray of blood and battle, he saw a line of golden-clad cavalry galloping towards their rear flank. The elves had been waiting to pull this on them and now they were going to be trapped between the hammer and the anvil: they would swiftly be crushed.

"Protect the flank!" Eirik shouted. "Ulli, Halldor, shoot them down!"

From the gathering of the corpses, Ulli and Halldor saw the approaching elven cavalry. Ulli threw her axe into the nearest elf, then picked up her bow, swiftly fitting an arrow into the string and watching with her keen eyes for the smallest point on one of the malachite-clad captains of the cavalry charge. Nearby, Halldor shot blindly towards the nearest elf, pulling back the heavy Nordic bows, one hundred pounds of resistance in their ironwood bodies. A soldier and a captain were struck by their arrows: the captain was dismounted and crushed to death under the hooves of his subordinates behind him. The others who remained at the back of the line or near the corpse mound turned their weapons hopelessly on the charging elves. Jodis swung her great-sword, taking off the head of a horse and sending the poor creature's body down, causing the horse behind to rear up in fear, halting advance at that point and throwing off the rider to have his head crushed by the horsemen around him.

Eirik could not see the progress of the few in the rear who survived the cavalry assault. It seemed that they would be routed by this one blow and all of his men die before they saw freedom. At least, he knew, they would be in Sovngarde. Then suddenly he saw another company of cavalry galloping hard over the field. At the front were three soldiers clad in Imperial armor, one bearing the red banner of the Empire, but the others were clad in the traditional Akaviri armor of the blades, with traditional banners upon their backs. They broke into the Dominion cavalry, hacking, cutting and slashing with their Akaviri long-swords. Many of the elves turned tail and fled; not for naught had the Dominion slaughtered the Blades in secret. Now, it seemed, out of the mists of the past came a resurrected army of the Blades to reek their vengeance upon the elves who had exterminated them in cowardly secret.

Now they, Nord and elf, watched as the Blades descended upon the Dominion cavalry. Heads and limbs went flying and blood was shed everywhere as they spared none in their path. One of the Imperial soldiers, Eirik saw, leaped off his horse and tackled a malachite-clad captain and his horse down onto the ground. Caught now between death and death, the Dominion cavalry foundered, leaderless. Both Eirik and the Blades knew who to take down to cause the most mayhem, as did those who had fought the elves in the Great War.

The banner was suddenly waved and then, to the dismay of Nord and elf alike, fire and lightning burst out across the plains. High Rock was known for its battle-mage divisions, and at the signal given, they unleashed their magic upon the Dominion army. Gusts of magical fire incinerated twenty elves at a time, while chain lightning arced through each gold-clad elf, sending waves of lethal lightning stretching like fingers through their lines. The rout was turned on the enemy. The pursuers now became the pursued. But their army was still large and many remained for the fight. One last rally in their midst around elvish battle-mages was gathered and suddenly, into the lines of the Sons of Skyrim and the Blades cavalry, bursts of fire and magical lightning appeared.

"Kill them!" Eirik shouted, pointing towards the elvish battle-mages. "Stop their magicks!"

Those nearest charged the battle-mages, many falling before fire and lightning, but not before they broke through. Steel clashed with the black robes of the Thalmor, long overdue fury and rage at twenty years of oppression, persecution, torture and lies finally unleashed. As his Voice returned, Eirik Shouted down those few who remained defiant of the Thalmor battle-mages. Another command was given and the main army charged across the field. The battle was at last joined.

Hacking his way through those around him, Eirik made his way to the horsemen under the Imperial banner. The third one was still out of sight, but as he approached, Eirik recognized the two sitting atop their destriers. The younger one bearing the banner was Silenius Petruvius, clad in Imperial Legion armor rather than ancient gear from the Third Era. The older one was Crixus.

"You bastard!" Eirik shouted over the din of battle. "Decided to come join the fight?"

"Of course," Crixus returned, a smile on his face. "I couldn't let you win all the renown by yourself. Get your men together, we're not done here yet."

Now they fought as one, the Dragon at the head of the Blades and the oncoming main army of High Rock and Skyrim and the Bear of Eastmarch with the ragged remains of the Sons of Skyrim. Nothing was held back. Even when the elves were retreated, both Crixus and Eirik, weary though they were from the battle, ordered their men to give pursuit. Every last Altmer soldier they slew, regardless of whether they had surrendered or not.

* * *

><p>Three hours later it was all over. Half of the Dominion army had been slain by the initial strike and the use of the Voice. The main army and Crixus' swift decision to charge out with the Blades had saved the Sons of Skyrim from total annihilation. Of the one hundred Nords of the Sons of Skyrim who went to battle - not including the twenty-two Firstborn and Lydia - seventy-three had been slain in battle: more than half of their number. Only three Blades had fallen, fourteen Legionnaires from the main army and ten Orcs.<p>

Upon the field of battle, now black with the rotting blood, those who survived carried the wounded back to the main camp while Eirik, Crixus, Lydia, Esbern, Delphine and Torgrim walked among the slain. The Imperial dead would be taken back to Cyrodiil and High Rock for proper burial, while the Nords and Sons of Skyrim who fell would be burned upon pyres. The fallen Orcs Gorak insisted be opened up and have their hearts removed, to be sent back to those who survived as well as to the families of the fallen, had they any. The hearts were to be roasted and eaten, that the strength of Malacath's children pass down to those who were left behind.

"I do not expect you humans to understand," Gorak stated grimly. "I only ask that you permit my people their last rites."

"It will be done, old friend," Crixus had replied.

As they walked across the field, Eirik saw the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim resting from the long battle. Inghild's leg had received a very ugly cut and was being tended by Perla. Valgard had taken a few blows, but was none the worse for ware. Both Falke and Angrim had survived and were now cleaning blood off their weapons, laughing about their victory and sharing the count of elves they had slain. At last they came to the bulwark made of the bodies of the slain elves and wondered what they should do to their bodies. Esbern, who had remained with the main army to carry out orders after the Blades were sent into the fray, suggested a solution.

"I want your men," he said to Crixus and Eirik. "To go among the elven bodies and take off their heads. Once you have done this, we will find a cart and send these heads as a gift to their High Justicar."

"Seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?" Crixus asked.

"They did the same to the Blades in secret," said Delphine. "We must repay them in kind. The time for hiding is done. Let the Dominion know that the Blades have returned with a vengeance."

"Yes, Delphine," Esbern replied. "After this and the peace summit, I think there is little hope in prolonged secrecy."

Crixus turned to Eirik, who had not spoken at all during the exchange. "You seem rather upset. Why?"

"You sent my men to their deaths," Eirik returned.

"I had no choice," he replied. "There would have been outbursts of violence in the camps: mostly due to _your_ men, of course, but either way, we can't have that."

"What good are we now?" asked Eirik.

"Didn't your Galmar Stone-fister say something about leaving troops behind?" asked Crixus.

"So?"

"So get up off your arse and tell him to bring them here!" Crixus retorted. "Or I might just go ahead and dismiss you and your Sons of Skyrim."

Eirik sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

The night was illuminated by the light of seventy-five burning pyres. So great was the flame that it could be seen from as far east as the Towers of Valtheim, as far north as the Blue Palace and even from the heights of High Hrothgar. Songs of life, death and Sovngarde were sung by those who survived them, with Eirik casting the first torch upon the wood. As he stood forty feet away from the pyres, Eirik thought he saw a dark shape moving just outside of the light. He gave it no thought as there were many in the army and it could have been a scout or messenger from either Crixus or Galmar.

In the days thereafter, the Battle of the Plains was always remembered in the great legends of both the Nords and the people of Cyrodiil. Many bards, scops and minstrels wrote songs of the charge of the Blades, or the last stand of the Sons of Skyrim. The twenty-two names of the Firstborn, all of whom survived that day (even Falke and Angrim), were placed into a roll which children were taught to know. The place where the dead were burned became a hallowed ground and a standing stone was there erected, with the names of all seventy-five fallen Nords carved thereon: two Legionnaires and seventy-three Sons of Skyrim. In Cyrodiil it was remembered as one of the events leading up to the Long Wait before the Second War with the Dominion. But as far the legends of the North go, the battle was remembered in Skyrim as one of the greatest battles of the Nordic people of the Fourth Era against mer-kind, their ancient enemy.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: And yes, I had to force myself to make another battle chapter, as much as i hate writing battles. I hope it was okay and not too cheesy or cliche. No, seriously, go back and watch <em>Braveheart<em>, _Lord of the Rings_, _Elizabeth II: the Golden Age, __Troy_, even wanna-be epics like _Pirates of the Caribbean 3_ and _Snow White and the Hunt__sman_: they all have the big rousing speech before the big battle! Even _Game of Thrones_ has Tyrion the Dwarf try his hand at epic speeches during the Siege of King's Landing in season 2. Oh well, i tried my best to steer away from the usual cliches and make a battle that felt like something out of an epic legend.)  
><strong>

**(I've really tried to make Eirik interesting and likeable, but i still feel that my readers feel that because he's not a mohawk-sporting, daedra-worshiping, Nord-hating, Imperial Legion Dunmer who's in the Thieves Guild, Dark Brotherhood, College of Winterhold and married to Ancano, nobody cares. Are morally good characters _still_ out of vogue? That's probably what will kill Crixus in the end: I need for him to have a story arc, a character arc, in order to change, but then i run the risk that if he changes too much, everyone will be like "aw, he just became another boring white guy." I mean, how many flaws does a morally good character need to have in order to be accepted, or should i just make him another Jason Statham knock-off? That's what everyone seems to like, just more douchey anti-heroes.)**

**(Of course, with that little bit with Eirik and Mjoll, that means the Companions probably won't be united in this story, as it would just really undercut any message I'm trying to make about personal responsibility. Or I might just pull a Tolkien and have that happen after the climax like the Scourging of the Shire, or maybe just write a short/one-off about the Reunification: what do you think? Like with pennyroyal, I didn't know if chess is in Tamriel, so i mentioned the chess/go amalgam "gess" - which is real.)**


	50. The Battle of the Marshes

**(AN: Yay, we get the reviews! In my own game experience, I have no need to summon dragons because I'm more than capable of handling anything the game throws at me without summoning Odahviing or Durnehviir. But in the verisimilitude of the story, Shouting takes a lot out of the Dragonborn, which makes spamming Shouts impossible as well as leaving BIG gaps of time in between two shouts if a BIG one, like summoning a dragon or a shade from Sovngarde, is used.)**

**(I actually asked my brother about whether the Dark Brotherhood would fight, but he hated the idea. One because it didn't fit with their nature [which i agreed with] and two because it seemed to make everything in the game just serve the purpose of the hero, which he believes is a Michael Kirkbride thing [although, for me, having things happen just for the sake of happening - which my brother is VERY keen on as opposed to having things happen for a reason - is more in line with his "we won. fuck it. we do what we want" mantra from _C0DA_.] Also yes, thank you for proving my point that people think that certain races are inherently "boring". Personally, i don't think a Bosmer Dragonborn would be better since they would doubtless use their power _for_ the Dominion.)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The Battle of the Marshes<strong>

Six days had passed since the Battle of the Plains and already news was going out throughout Skyrim of an army of the West traveling eastward, swallowing up the Dominion as they went. No news arrived yet from Solitude whether an answer had been made to the message Esbern sent of at least five hundred of the one thousand heads of the Dominion army sent to High Justicar Thelgil.

Eirik was inside the command tent in the center of the camp of the main army. With him were Crixus, Esbern, Rikke, Petruvius, Delphine, Gorak, Galmar and Torgrim. The map was upon the table and plans were being laid out.

"We've more than recovered from our losses at the Battle of the Plains," Crixus began. "Three hundred reinforcements from the Sons of Skyrim and two hundred from the garrisons of the Reach and Whiterun have been added to our number. I think it's time to strike back. We have the momentum and the Dominion will think twice about engaging us again on the open field."

"I say we take back Whiterun," Eirik said. "From what the Companions told us, the Thalmor have more control over there than the Dominion. We should eliminate their strongest forces first."

"I agree," Galmar added. "Whiterun is the heart of Skyrim. Take it and the elves won't stand a chance."

"Thankfully, for us all," Crixus added. "You, Master Stone-fister, are not in charge of the army."

"The balls on this one!" Galmar grumbled to Eirik, gesturing to Crixus with his graying head.

"I've been this way before," said Crixus, gesturing to the Hjaalmarch hold on the map. "Heljarchen Valley is too cold and remote to move forces effectively in or out of Whiterun. If the elves are smart - and we know they are - they will try to cut off our retreat to the west by marching south here." He pointed back towards Rorikstead. "Our priority should be Dragon Bridge, on the border of Haafingar and the Reach, old Markarth Side, as they called it back in the day." He pointed on the map to Dragon Bridge.

"Why there?" asked Gorak.

"From what Governor Rikke has told me," Crixus said. "The main Aldmeri army is in Solitude. No matter where we strike, the threat of being overrun from Solitude is still too great. If we can secure Dragon Bridge, the likelihood of reinforcements from Solitude will be greatly reduced."

"But what about the other holds?" Eirik asked. "With Whiterun under the control of the Dominion..."

"And Dawnstar," Delphine added.

"Any attack on Solitude," said Eirik. "Would leave us open to assault."

"Aha," Crixus said, lifting one finger. "But that's where you're wrong. You see, at this very moment, my friend the privateer captain Shaddar is leading the Red Dog on a series of...enterprising missions against the Dominion fleet near Rihad and Hegathe. While that has been going on, the Imperial fleet is still disorganized. I will therefore send my squire and banner-bearer Silenius Petruvius to Anvil to request the aid of the West Fleet. With luck on our side, they will draw the attention of the Dominion garrison in Dawnstar away from things happening in the north and west."

"It would be my honor to serve the Empire, sir," Petruvius said proudly, saluting Crixus with an outstretched arm and open hand facing forward. Crixus returned the gesture and then Petruvius left the tent.

"Is it wise to trust the Imperial fleet?" asked Glamar. "Or luck?"

"Would you rather I trust your false Nordic gods?" Crixus asked, then turned to Eirik. "Or your Voice, Dragonborn?"

"If I may venture my suggestion," Galmar spoke up.

"No!" Rikke said sharply.

"Let the Stone-fister speak, Governor!" Crixus said.

"He is a fool!" Rikke retorted.

"At least I don't have my mouth firmly planted on the Empire's ass," Galmar retorted.

Rikke drew out her sword and charged towards Galmar. Torgrim timely stepped between them, holding them both, even the strong Galmar Stone-Fist who was almost his size, at bay. Grumbling, Galmar turned back to Eirik.

"If you will be ruled by me," he said. "You would do well to trust in the Way of the Voice more than you do now."

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"I was there when you broke the siege of Windhelm," he said. "I saw you summon a dragon down to incinerate the Imperial legions. With that kind of power, no elf could hide from our sight, whether in Solitude, Dawnstar, Whiterun or their little islands in the west!"

"Dragons?" Rikke asked. "I thought they were wiped out." She turned to Eirik, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "_You_ were supposed to bring an end to them. That's the reason we even bothered with your damn treaty. You're incompetent, just like your little host of bandits."

"If we hadn't been betrayed," Eirik returned, glaring at both Rikke and Crixus. "Maybe we wouldn't have lost so many."

"If you weren't so reserved about your power," Galmar added. "We would never have to fear about losing _any_."

"No," Eirik returned. "I will use my Voice sparingly, but not like Windhelm. Not again." Eirik turned to Crixus. "When this war is over, what will happen to you? Will you go back to Cyrodiil a victor to spend the rest of your short life cock-deep in women and wine? What about us?" He pointed to himself. "When the war ends for us, we have to go back to our fields, to rebuild the world _your_ Empire destroyed. And if I do what Master Stone-Fist wants of me, what will I be then? A terrible scourge that all - men and mer - fear to behold because I brought down the old dragon gods to their knees and made them my servants to reek havoc upon Skyrim? Is that who you want rebuilding Skyrim, which _you_ Imperials believe is yours?"

In the stunned silence that followed, Eirik was surprised to hear the silence broken by clapping. The one whose hands were together was Crixus.

"In all the time we've spent together," Crixus said. "That's probably the smartest thing you've ever said." He then turned to the others. "We don't need the Nordic Voice to help us, especially if it means bringing _dragons_ onto my battlefield. There's no telling that they won't suddenly turn and destroy us as well."

"Not when they answer to him!" Galmar retorted, pointing to Eirik.

"Silence!" Crixus shouted. "I have spoken and my word will be obeyed. If you feel otherwise, then get the fuck out of my camp."

"No Voice but you'll rely on your magicks?" asked Galmar.

"Torgrim, Gorak, get him out of here!" Crixus said to those nearby. The two largest members seized Galmar and dragged him out of the tent while Rikke laughed to see her rival debased so. Eirik turned to Crixus, who shook his head in warning. When at last they returned, he addressed them all once again.

"I hope there won't have to be any other instances like that," he said. "Now that we've straightened that out, we'll begin making plans to go north towards Dragon Bridge. Eirik, because of your fool-hardiness in charging towards the front without back-up, you'll be going at the rear guard of the army while _we_ take the field."

"You ordered me onto the front without support!" Eirik returned.

"How dare you insult his brilliant battle strategies!" Rikke retorted.

"Papa!" a voice suddenly cried out. Eirik turned around and saw little Lucia running up to the tent, tugging on Eirik's pants.

"Leave, little girl!" Rikke said sharply. "This is a war council."

"Papa, you've gotta come, quick!"

"Sir, may I throw her out as well?" Rikke asked.

"Lay a hand on my child, legate," Eirik retorted. "And you'll never walk again."

"Are you threatening me, milk-drinker?" Rikke returned, stepping threateningly towards Eirik.

"Silence!" Crixus shouted again. "Eirik, you're dismissed. Rikke, we still have important matters to discuss."

"But he..."

"That will have to wait," Crixus said. "Stay here. We can talk of the important matters now that the ignorant children are gone. Go on, now."

Rikke turned angrily to Eirik and said: "It's governor, b*tch!" Eirik rose his hand up to strike Rikke, when Crixus intervened.

"Touch my soldiers, Eirik," he said. "And _you'll_ never walk again, and then some. That's my promise to you."

Eirik lowered his hand, then turned to Lucia, who was cowing in the doorway of the tent. He knelt down and picked her up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Come to the carriage, now!" she said, urgency rising in her little voice. "It's Mama!"

* * *

><p>Eirik ran through the camp of the main army, arriving at the outskirts where the Sons of Skyrim had set their make-shift camp around the carriage. Placing Lucia down, he climbed into the carriage to see what was wrong with Mjoll. She was sitting down and, upon his arrival, brightened up at his approach.<p>

"Is everything alright, dear?" she asked. "You appear flustered."

"Lucia said something was wrong," Eirik said.

"Oh, it's nothing," Mjoll returned with a gentle smile. "The baby kicked harder than usual. It startled me, that's all. She must have feared I was going into labor."

"You shouted pretty loudly, Mama," Lucia returned.

"I was just surprised, dear," Mjoll replied. "There's nothing to be worried about."

Eirik sighed. "I'm glad to hear that you're well." He turned then to walk back out of the carriage.

"Wait," Mjoll said. "Something is bothering you."

"It's nothing," Eirik replied. "Just the bu...bull-wrestling of politics."

Mjoll winked at Eirik and mouthed "Nice" in response to his swift salvation from his slip in etiquette. "Maybe you need to take a break from it?"

"Not now," Eirik said, shaking his head. "If I leave, they'll have us all executed."

"That bad, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it," Eirik groaned as he turned and walked out of the carriage. As soon as he exited the carriage, Lydia, who had been standing at the door waiting for him, led him over to the camp-fire, where the Sons of Skyrim were busy singing songs, sharpening their weapons and sharing stories. Lydia had managed to acquire a bowl of soup and bread for both of them from the rations and now led Eirik to a place around the fire. Ralof was on their right and Perla on their left, sharing stories across from them about their exploits in the previous battle.

"Everything alright with your lady?" Lydia asked.

"Weren't you listening?" asked Eirik in return.

"I was getting us food," she added.

"Just the baby moving," Eirik said.

"Uh-huh," Lydia said in disbelief. "Look, I may not have any experience with child-bearing, but Perla here has been telling me all about her _three_ children."

"Ah, yes," Perla said, noticing Lydia speaking to her. She turned to Ralof and excused herself before turning to Eirik. "How long has it been since you and your wife last fucked?"

"Is that really any of your business?" Eirik asked.

"I told you about my three children," said Perla. "And when my second husband died. Might as well confide in me, I might be able to help."

"How would you be able to help?" Eirik asked.

"I've given birth to three children," Perla said. "Even if I hadn't decided after my second to learn from a midwife how to bear my own child by the time Ebbe knocked me up, I know how it is done. Perhaps I can be of help?"

Eirik nodded. "Evening Star last year."

"Kyne's mercy, that's almost eight months," Perla exclaimed. "She could give birth any time now. Is this her first time?" Eirik nodded. "Always the hardest. Still, if you will permit me, I will see to it that nothing happens to harm your wife and child."

"I need you on the battlefield," Eirik returned, but Perla interjected, placing her hand on Eirik's shoulder.

"Let me do this, my lord," she said. "It would be my honor, and it would mean much to me as well. Losing children is damn easy out here in the wild. Don't let your wife be robbed of the joy of motherhood so soon."

Eirik nodded again. "I'll make all the arrangements."

"I'll do it," Lydia said, taking her food in her hands and gesturing with the bread in her left hand to Perla and then towards the carriage. Eirik silently thanked the gods that they had put such people in his path. For without them, he would have known nothing of what he had to do regarding Mjoll.

* * *

><p>Eirik was awoken suddenly from his sleep by knocking at the door of the carriage. Swiftly rousing from sleep and gently removing himself from between Mjoll and Lucia, he walked over to the door and opened it. There before him stood Crixus, the light of a torch held in the hand of Torgrim who stood nearby.<p>

"What are you doing here?" Eirik asked.

"It is said," Crixus replied. "That in company, all talk is debate. Perhaps alone we can speak plainly."

Eirik rolled his eyes, threw on his under-shirt and then left the carriage. Crixus led them out of the camp, walking the empty plains of Whiterun under the starry night sky. In the distance a wolf howled, and the sound of a giant groaning in the hills to the north echoed long and deep. There was no sign of anything else nearby and so, once they left, Crixus broke the silence.

"Listen," he began. "I agreed with what you said during the council today. The Voice is better left alone: it's a useless crutch. That part about the dragons, though, I was certainly suspicious of. The only good dragon's one that's dead, eh?"

"What do you want?" Eirik asked.

"Look, just-just bear with this," said Crixus. "I have to be the commander of _everyone_ in our little army, making decisions, passing judgments and arbitrating the lives of almost fifteen hundred people. Th..." He sighed and looked west, away from Eirik.

"The what?" Eirik asked again.

"The last time I led close to that many," he said. "Was at the Battle of Red Dog Pass, the infamous Blooded Vale of Llywyn. Most of my legion were slaughtered by the elves. Agh, I'm not cut out for leadership, you see this! I can barely keep Rikke and Galmar from tearing each other part!"

"You speak to another poor leader," Eirik added. "Every decision I've made as led the Sons of Skyrim into greater hazards. I'm surprised they don't turn on me like everyone in Skyrim has done."

"Why?" Crixus asked. "I thought all you Nords were about Ulfric Stormcloak and killing elves."

"There are many loyalists in the cities and towns of Skyrim," Eirik said. "I am to them what I was to you and Rikke: just a nuisance."

"You've proven your worth on the battlefield," Torgrim, who had remained silent for a long while, stated. "At least, as far as I'm concerned."

"Still," said Crixus. "There's bound to be a few problems along the way."

"Problems?" Eirik returned. "I've lost nearly half of my host in the first battle!"

"We are at war, Eirik," Crixus replied. "People die all the time."

"Then why are you upset over your poor leadership?" Eirik asked. "If people die all the time, then why can't you just ignore your faults and say 'This is war, people die in war'?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Crixus asked. Before he continued, he turned to Torgrim and gestured that he should leave. Handing Crixus the torch, the large Nord returned to the camp, leaving Eirik and Crixus alone to continue. "Of course you don't, why should you? You're just a wood-cutter, you have no real grasp on warfare or how to lead people or-or plan an attack or how to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat."

"There's more to what you're saying than just war and death," Eirik stated.

"You think?"

"Tell me what's troubling you."

"Why should you care? You hate me."

"You're our leader, right? Who will we turn to if you're overwhelmed with...whatever you're feeling right now?"

Crixus sighed, rubbing one hand over his mostly bald head. "I lost a lot of good men at the Battle of the Red Dog Pass. I've lost even more from those sorry bastards who try to follow me. Now I have an army, the entire fate of the race of men, in my hands. You tell me, what am I supposed to do?"

"You do your duty," Eirik stated. "As I did mine when the dragons returned, and when..."

Suddenly Crixus shushed Eirik, drawing out with his other hand his gladius. Eirik noticed Crixus eying the shadows, which he did as well; they soon realized that there was someone, or something, in the darkness with them. In the distance they heard the galloping of hooves and then a loud cry as if someone was being attacked. Thither they ran and came upon a rider in malachite armor lying on the ground: the horse had ran off, apparently in fright. Over the figure there hovered a dark figure, clad in black. As they approached the figure looked up and, in the dim light of the torch in Crixus' left hand, Eirik saw a most hideous thing dressed in dark robes like the shadows around it.

"Shor's blood!" Eirik gasped.

The dark figure rose up from the fallen rider and slowly began to approach them. Crixus held out his sword, but the figure seemed to ignore it. It was now close enough that they could see its face in the light of the torch. It was gray, like the rotted skin of the draugr, withered and dry: but the two red-yellow eyes and its mouth, filled with blood and dripping out and down till it covered the chin, gave Eirik pause. This was no draugr.

"Stand back!" Crixus said to Eirik. "I'll handle this!"

"It's alright," a voice spoke. It was a strange voice: familiar and yet strange. The voice seemed hoarse, as though it had been traversing a long desert without water. "It's me."

"Serana?" Crixus asked.

"That's Serana?" Eirik returned.

"I've been very weak," she said. "Since what happened at Orotheim. There hasn't been enough to feed on and Crixus said he'd kill me if I harmed any of the soldiers. I thought you weren't supposed to do that, though. Isn't it to invoke the wrath of Sithis to kill another one of us?"

"Not so loud!" Crixus hissed.

"Is this about the Dark Brotherhood?" Eirik asked. "Because I _do_ know about that. Remember Castle Volkihar?"

"Yes, it is," Serana said. Then in the torch-light happened something that Eirik could scarce believe, though he saw it with his own eyes. The gray, dried skin on Serana's face began to soften and lighten up, turning once more into its usual pale complexion. Her voice also sounded less hoarse than before and more like her usual self.

"There," she replied. "Now do you believe it's me?"

"I'm sorry," Eirik said. "I should have known..."

"Known what?" she asked. "That I'd look like my father because I'm a vampire?"

"Nordic tolerance, what can I say?" asked Crixus.

"Hey, I'm a Nord too!"

"Really?" Crixus asked. "What kind of Nordic name is Serana? And what about your hair? I thought most Nords were blond-haired."

"I'm not," Eirik stated. "And neither is Lydia, nor the Inner Circle of the Companions. In fact, there are many in Skyrim who are not fair-haired."

Serana rolled her eyes, then walked over to the corpse lying on the ground.

"Were you drinking his blood?" Eirik asked.

"I need to hunt," said Serana. "Besides, I didn't think you'd mind."

"Why?"

"It's an Altmer," Crixus stated.

"I found this on him, though," she said, holding up a leather courier's pouch. Eirik opened the pouch and removed a letter, sealed with black wax and marked with the emblem of the Wolf of Solitude. He quickly opened the letter and, holding it up to the torch, read therefrom.

"'_High Justicar Thelgil to Eldawyn, Thalmor justicar positioned in Whiterun,_

_'I request that you send reinforcements to the town of Dragon Bridge at once. It is of vital importance to the security of our operation and must not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. If you are under the delusion that you are at liberty to deny my request for whatever reasons you may contrive, I am sending a hundred justicars to take command of your forces and lead them here. It is futile therefore to deny me my right.'_"

"This is good," Crixus said.

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked. "We don't know where this little force of theirs will be going. If they reach Whiterun, we'll have another army to deal with."

"Aha, but they won't," said Crixus, stowing the letter in his bosom, then turning to Serana. "Well done. Thanks to you, we now know more about the Thalmor's hierarchy."

"Exactly what?" Eirik asked.

"Thelgil is taking full control over them," Crixus replied. "If he centralizes their operations in Skyrim, killing him should destabilize Thalmor efforts and put them back another five or six years."

"Just five or six years?" asked Eirik.

"They'd have to re-establish contact with all their agents," said Crixus. "Find out which ones are still alive and replace the ones we've killed, regain the trust of all your people. Which, of course, will be difficult after this."

"Not so difficult with your Empire giving Skyrim to them," Eirik said. "As long as the Empire treats with the Dominion by letting the Thalmor run rampant in our land, we will never be at rest."

"And what do you propose I do?" Crixus returned. "Kill them all? 'Kick their yellow arses back into the sea' like you said? There would be war for sure!"

"War will come, one way or another, after this is through," Eirik said. "If not with the Dominion, then with someone else. But we have to be prepared to do what is necessary, not what is easy."

"All this over just a small company regrouping a garrison?" Serana asked. "But maybe I shouldn't wonder, it is you two after all."

"What does that mean?" Eirik asked.

"Just that you two act like children sometimes," Serana stated. "Any conversation you two have had in the time I've known you always falls to just arguing."

Both Eirik and Crixus said nothing as they shared glances between Serana and themselves. Her words were true, but neither of them felt as though they could speak without igniting another conversation. It was also late and Eirik was weary, feeling once more the weight of his responsibilities upon his shoulders again.

At last Crixus broke the silence.

"We move out in the morning," he said. "We'll send scouts ahead to watch for those elves. I suggest we get some rest while we can."

"Aye," Eirik nodded as he walked back towards the lights of the camp.

* * *

><p>"Eirik! Wake up!"<p>

Eirik sighed and his head swayed to one side. Opening his eyes, he saw the land around them had changed. They were on the north road towards Dragon Bridge. It would still be a long time before they saw the town and its great stone bridge, but for now the sun was up and he realized that he had been asleep longer than usual. Turning to his left, he saw Lydia sitting at the front of the carriage next to him, holding the reins.

"What?" he slurred.

"Are you drunk again?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "We haven't had any good drink since Evermore."

"That was twenty-two days ago," she said. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'm weary, that's all," Eirik replied. "I haven't slept well in many days. Not since the Battle of the Plains."

"I know," she returned. "Ten days is too short a time between fighting. Our blades are going dull, our armor is getting rusty!"

Eirik chuckled. "I just wish that all our war meetings didn't turn into complete confusion. You know, I'm almost inclined to believe that Crixus _is_ related to Sheogorath."

"What?"

"Nothing," Eirik groaned, shaking his head. "So, how is Mjoll?"

"She's a bit uncomfortable," Lydia answered. "Not that I can blame her. Being pregnant looks like quite a burden indeed!"

"Is she well, though?"

"Yes, as far as I can guess," she replied. "Perla is in the back with her, instructing her on child-bearing."

"I should be with her," Eirik lamented.

"We have a war to fight," said Lydia. "Though, you could always find a way to bring that to a swift end."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard Galmar talking with the other Firstborn," Lydia said. "About your last meeting four days ago."

"Firstborn?"

"I heard that's what they're calling you," Lydia began. "The ones who escaped from Windhelm: the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim. You're in it, along with Galmar, Thorald, Perla, Ralof, Calder, Ulli, Angrim, Bjorn, Falke, Dynthor, Jodis, Kjellbjorn, Noralv, Svenn, Ovlin, Valgard, Yrsarald, Maldor, Halldor, Lalla and Inghild."

"My!" Eirik chuckled. "You know all our names?"

"They said we should," Lydia returned. "The other ones who survived the last battle. They wanted to immortalize your names in song, as though you don't already have enough songs about your exploits already. So they said that the two and twenty names of the Firstborn of Skyrim should be remembered as long as the Nordic people live in Skyrim.

"Anyway, he mentioned your last meeting with Crixus and the others. And I think he has a point. This war would be over so much faster if you just did what you did at Windhelm."

"I won't do that."

"Why not?"

"Were you not there with me when we fought Alduin?" Eirik asked. "Did you not hear what Arngeir said to me after I told him about our victory?"

"Yes, I was there," Lydia returned. "So?"

"He told me about the dreadful powers I had taken to myself to defeat Alduin," Eirik said. "The Dragonrend Thu'um, filled with hatred from the immortal wyrms. But there were others: Miraak's Thu'um, which he used to bend the will of the people of Solstheim to his own ends, including the dragons, the children of Akatosh. Arngeir said that I had a choice, either to fade into obscurity, to become a hero...or a curse."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" asked Lydia. "You have the power to make everything right, why not do it now and save so many lives?"

"Do I?" Eirik asked. "I have so much power, I don't even know what to do with it. But it's not right, any of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Something's happening," Eirik said. "This war, or conflict or whatever you want to call it, has taken its toll on me. Running to Windhelm instead of going looking for Mjoll, burning down half a Legion with a dragon, leading a rebellion when I should have been trying to drive the Thalmor out of Skyrim."

"You just lost sight of the real goal, my thane," Lydia returned.

"No, it's worse," Eirik said. "Before I couldn't really care less about elves, now I can't stand the sight of them. Whatever part of me used to care about others seems to have died. I'm afraid, Lydia: afraid that if I let myself go again, if I choose the quick and easy solution, there will be no turning back."

"That's bull-sh..." Eirik shushed her, gesturing back to the carriage behind them. "That's insane! You're not an evil person, my thane, I know that."

"What if I'm becoming that way?" Eirik asked. "What if I'm letting myself fall victim to my own power?"

"You won't," Lydia returned. "You know what has to be done, and you do it. That doesn't make you a bad person."

Eirik groaned. "I'm sick of being crippled with inaction. I have the ability to effect great change, but at what cost? This is what angers me, what makes me afraid."

"Then do something!" Lydia returned. "And the White take whoever complains about it. You don't live for anyone but yourself, my thane. I thought we had already talked about this."

"I guess I just need reminding," Eirik added.

"Well, that's why you have Mjoll, sir," Lydia returned. "Me? I can't have your back in a fight _and_ remind you not to give two shits about what other people think at the same time."

Eirik murmured his recognition of her words, but his weary mind was trying its damnedest to wrap itself around what Lydia had just said. He was determined not to bring the dragons back into the world: let them be lost to the memory of all those involved. When he saw the look on Rikke's face when she, a Nord, heard of the dragon attack on the Legion at Windhelm, Eirik realized that it would be detrimental to flippantly wield the dragons at every moment in a display of his prowess like a bird would its brilliant feathers. But there were other Thu'um he knew, or at least he distantly remembered, which he could still call upon in battle.

* * *

><p>The sixteenth day of Sun's Height dawned mist-clad in the southern marshes of the hold of Hjaalmarch. Eirik was vaguely familiar with this region, having visited it while he was poisoned by a chaurus during his visit to Mzinchaleft. But the land had changed since that time. The fens were green instead of greyish-brown and they warbled with life as Eirik and the Sons of Skyrim plucked their way through the cold, muddy ground.<p>

Eirik was at the lead of the group of three hundred making their way through the marshes. They seemed to be going on for a long while with no results, not even a sign in these damnable fens of the passing of the Thalmor task force. It seemed as though fate had cheated them and threw this mist of fog to blanket their path, covering the enemy from their sight.

"There's nothing!" Galmar shouted.

"Crixus said they would pass through here on their way southward," Eirik returned.

"The White take Servius Crixus!" Galmar retorted. "Since when do we take orders from him?"

"Since the Dominion declared war on Skyrim," Eirik explained. "And they became a problem for _both_ of us."

"There must be something we can do about this fog," Lydia said.

"I told you..." Eirik began, but she interrupted him.

"You don't need a dragon to disperse this fog," she said. "Don't you have some other way of doing it?"

"First Crixus and now you?" Eirik asked. "Does everyone like interrupting me before I get the chance to speak?"

"I apologize, my thane," Lydia replied.

"Still," Eirik said, looking up at the sky. "There _is_ something, something I can do that won't be too hard to overcome. _Lok...Vah Koor!_"

There was a peal of thunder and then a rush of wind as the fog blew north-eastward in ragged grey tatters. Before them they saw a cadre of horsemen clad in black about fifty yards in the marshes before them.

"There they are!" Eirik shouted. "Attack!"

All the Sons of Skyrim gave a loud shout and charged towards the Thalmor cavalry as fast as they could through fifty yards of marshes. Those who had bows took aim and began firing at the small host before them. One hundred Thalmor justicars, armed with magic or not, stood no chance before three hundred Nords of the Sons of Skyrim. At the head of them Eirik ran, choosing the firmest ground on which to set his feet as he crossed the marshes towards them.

"_Mul...Qah Diiv!_" Eirik shouted.

From afar, the fog over the fens of south-western Hjaalmarch were suddenly blown away and the main army saw as Eirik the Dragonborn led his three hundred Sons of Skyrim into the fray, charging forward clad in fire with the visage of a dragon about him. At the front of the main army sat Crixus and Rikke on their horses, watching the battle unfold. There was no need to rescue them now: they had such power on their side that they did not need to fight. In fact, it was for that very reason that the two commanders were discussing their fears.

"I was wrong, sir," Rikke said to Crixus.

"Oh?" Crixus asked, a smile on his face to hear a Nord admit her failure. "How were you wrong?"

"My biggest concern was for these bandits causing trouble in our camp," Rikke said. "But that one, that Eirik Bjornsson, he's worse than three hundred Sons of Skyrim."

"How so?"

"Dragons?" Rikke asked. "Do you know what kind of threat you've just let into our midst? They're the harbingers of the time of the end, and _he_ can summon them to himself at will and command them to do whatever he wishes. If he were to turn on us, imagine what it would do to the Empire, to us."

"And how are you certain he will turn on us?" Crixus asked. "He hates the Dominion, we can use that to keep them out of our provinces."

"I'm a Nord, sir," she returned. "If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's my people's history. We are not friends, we're conquerors." She turned back towards the field, watching as Eirik single-handedly struck down a third of the Thalmor justicars in the small band while his soldiers finished off the rest.

"Once he has what he wants, the Dominion out of Skyrim," she continued. "He will turn on us, I can guarantee that."

"You don't know Eirik like I do," Crixus chuckled. "He has no aspirations to rule like that war-monger Ulfric Stormcloak. He is a simple man, and when he has sated his blood-thirsty, he will return to his forest and his fat wife and stay out of our way."

"He is a Nord," Rikke returned.

"Do you hate your own people so much?" Crixus laughed. "I thought I was supposed to say that."

"Being in the Legion has opened my mind, sir," Rikke began. "Nords have no place in the bigger picture of things, only the Empire. We must become one with the Empire or we will fall, and we cannot do that by hanging onto outdated notions of racial pride or honor."

"Smart," said Crixus. "Like those poor bastards in Bruma. Finally realized their folly and decided to accept Imperial culture."

"That's correct, sir," she said. "But he is different. He holds foolishly onto the past. He has visions of greatness, of the likes of Ysgramor or Tiber Septim or Wulfharth. All my people do: it is in our blood. Mark my words, sir: he _will_ turn on us, I know it to be true. We have to be prepared for that."

"Prepared?" Crixus asked.

"With all due respect, sir," Rikke continued. "Now is not the time to play coy. You know what needs to be done in order to preserve order and restore peace in the Empire. Eirik Bjornsson _has_ to die."

Crixus turned back to the field of battle, or what was left of it. All there were now were the Sons of Skyrim, cheering and shouting in their triumph. The Battle of the Marshes had ended before it began: mastery belonged to _his_ army. But not to him or his army, in truth, though he would say otherwise: the victory belonged to Eirik the Dragonborn. Twice he had let Eirik steal victory for their army - for stealing was the only word to describe his actions. He had sent him to the front-lines to die in the Battle of the Plains, but somehow had survived: his victory was a theft there, he should have died. Again he sent him out into the marshes, hoping that even with superior forces, the marshes would prove to be a problem: it had not been an issue and once again, he had stolen victory from Servius Crixus, the rightful leader and victor.

_If he can steal _my_ victories so easily_, Crixus thought. _What else can he take but the throne?_ And in that moment, Crixus and Rikke agreed on one thing: for better or for worse...

_Eirik Bjornsson had to die._

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Ugh, and I still have two more battles to go, one of them being long: VERY long! Oh well, I've got some things established in this chapter that make it feel like we did something.)<strong>

**(Meh, I like Norse culture, so i don't find the Nords of Skyrim to be boring or "plain" at all. Unfortunately, everyone since Michael Kirkbride thinks they're just a bunch of Greyjoys [another _Game of Thrones_ reference] or, like my brother, just a bunch of nazis [he actually said that a Nord Dragonborn would easily fall prey to calling himself the avatar of Ysmir in order to use his Voice to overthrow the Empire, but that if any other race were Dragonborn, they would have no selfish or nationalistic temptations whatsoever].  
><strong>

**(For the last time, EIRIK WILL _NOT_ BE USING DRAGONS AT ANY OF THE BATTLES IN THIS STORY! That just will NOT happen! He's already on the slippery slope and doesn't need to be reveling in himself and his power just because "that would be more convenient." Aside from the moral ramifications, which apparently i'm not bringing up enough or am being so subtle that nobody gets it, what does it mean for Eirik if he just summons a dragon for every problem? That he has great power, yes, but then what is stopping him from becoming another Miraak, since we saw him rob free will during the Whiterun incident? And if he loses the Voice by some way, what does he have? So please stop bringing it up!)**


	51. The Siege of Dragon Bridge

**(AN: An interesting thing about this chapter will be the point of view of the first part of it, which is, strangely enough, not on Eirik. There is also one word that I just _had_ to censor out because i hate it more than the other word, i rarely use it in writing, never in actual speaking, but the only reason its in is to remind us that, even though he's "changed", Crixus still can't stand Skyrim, its people or the notion of the Divines.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Siege of Dragon Bridge<strong>

"_Gol...Hah Dov!_"

The words echoed in Crixus' mind like the pounding of a war-drum. There could have been another way to escape. He had never lost a fight and these Nords in Imperial armor were nothing to him. But there he went, bending these fools to his will. At the time it had gone unnoticed, but now he could hear Rikke's words in his head.

The scene shifted and there stood Eirik in the streets of Whiterun. All around him were Nords, vile, drunken and dissolute mongrels, cheering and raising their weapons to him.

"I am the North Wind! Let those bastards in the south hear my Voice and beware! The end of the Empire is upon us!"

Swiftly before his eyes, Crixus saw a massive exodus of Nordic warriors armed to the teeth as they made their way through the Jerall Mountains, south into Cyrodiil. He saw the Heartlands in flames, the Imperial City covered in blood once again and, from the top of the White-Gold Tower, Eirik stood, with an elf's head in one hand and a burning Imperial banner in the other.

Suddenly Crixus awoke, finding himself alone in his tent. Alone, without a woman's comfort. Usually there had been at least two, but not since his time in Skyrim and not lately. He was dreaming, but Rikke's words were not leaving his mind. He couldn't allow this to continue any longer. As he stood up, he saw Lethia in the corner of the tent, gazing westward towards the wall of the tent. She had been brought to camp after Serana's sudden reappearance and was staying with him, away from those who would hate or wrongly exploit her.

"Are you still awake?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. Her voice was soft, the only time he had felt genuine softness in a long while.

"You can't sleep?" he asked.

"No," she returned. "It reminds me of the caves. I...I don't ever want to go back."

"You won't," Crixus said. "I'll see to that."

"What about you?" she asked. "Are you afraid of the dark as well?"

"No," Crixus shook his head. "I was having a dream."

"About the slave?"

"Who, you mean Eirik?" Crixus asked.

Lethia chuckled. "Slaves do not deserve names."

"Yeah? Well how come you're so open to me? As I recall, my people weren't exactly on friendly terms with elves either."

"You were nice to me," she replied. "That other one is just another big dumb brute, just like the rest of them. His people were born to be slaves and he deserves to be one."

"Well, why don't you tell me what to do, hmm?" Crixus asked. "Aren't you clairvoyant or something?"

"I can't force it to happen," she returned. "It happens when it happens, that is the will of the gods."

"Still," Crixus groaned. "It would be nice to have some kind of warning or advice on what to do about him. He's becoming a threat."

"Then kill him," she replied.

"If only it were that easy," Crixus chuckled. "Half of Skyrim have been trying to kill him since he came into prominence a year ago, and yet none of them have succeeded." He then paused.

"What is wrong?"

"Find Serana," Crixus said. "Bring her here."

Lethia left swiftly and it was not long before the flap of the tent was opened and the vampire, clad all in black, entered into Crixus' tent.

"I found her near the sarcophagus in her cart," Lethia said.

"What is it?" Serana asked. "You know I won't have sex with you. I don't do that and you're far too young for me."

"I didn't ask you here for that," said Crixus. "I need you for something more...practical."

"What do you need?" Serana asked.

He waved Serana closer to him and then spoke in a hushed tone. "I want you to go to the Mudcrab and ask a favor of Nazir and the others."

"The Mudcrab?" she asked. "Why?"

"The war is going well," Crixus began. "In three days time we'll be in Dragon Bridge, in less than a week from that we'll be in Solitude with the High Justicar running back to the Summerset Isles with his tail between his legs. In only ten days I'll be free of this g**-****ed country and all these Nords in it."

"Then why do you need me or Nazir?" Serana asked.

"I don't want anything to interfere with the expedience of our victory," said Crixus. "I want you to send a missive I will write to Nazir, requesting the Dark Brotherhood to assist us in the final assault on Solitude."

Serana gazed at the shadows, pausing briefly at Lethia, then leaned in closer. "Have you received anything? Did that..._thing_ contact you?"

"No," Crixus shook his head. "No, but from my undercover work with the Thalmor, I know that this follows the agenda of the Dark Brotherhood. It's time to hit back at the Thalmor, and that a few defenders suddenly disappear wouldn't hurt our cause either."

"I don't know if they'll be willing..."

"My letter should convince them," Crixus said. "Can I count on you to send it to the Mudcrab at once?"

"I've been itching to do something," she replied. "And you want me to deliver a message to you?"

"I'd love to send you into battle against the Dominion," said Crixus. "But we do our fighting during the day."

"I've noticed," Serana sighed. "Very well, I'll take your message to Nazir."

"Good," Crixus smiled. "Oh, also, tell them to send someone to kill Eirik Bjornsson."

"Wait, what?" asked Serana.

"He's become a threat to us," Crixus said. "I can't allow him to continue. It is time for him to depart this world."

"But why?" Serana asked. "I mean I thought you two were getting along. About damn time, I might add."

"None of us trust him," Crixus stated.

"I trust him," Serana said. "And Mjoll trusts him, and Lydia trusts him and the Blades trust him and so do three hundred of the Sons of Skyrim."

"You saw what happened in the Forgotten Vale," Crixus stated. "How an army of Falmer were no threat to him, only a bother, and he just Shouted and a dragon came to lift him out of the valley and right up to the gates of the Inner Sanctum. What's to stop him from summoning another dragon to come and burn down the whole camp if he wants to? Or to turn _my_ legions against me with his Voice?

"If that was what he wanted," Serana said. "Don't you think he would have done it when we were in the mountains, before we became almost two thousand strong?"

"He's biding his time," Crixus replied. "Just waiting for the right moment to strike. I feel that he's waiting until we've driven the Dominion out of Skyrim, then he will strike. But I'm through with waiting. He's survived two battles, I won't wait for him to survive the last two. Tell them to have him killed at once."

Serana sighed, shook her head, then waited silently as Crixus fetched a parchment and ink at his desk to write up his letter.

* * *

><p>Over the next three days, Eirik saw mercifully less of Crixus. While it was good that he was away from such an antagonist and able to spend more time with Mjoll and Lucia, it was unnerving that an army at war needed no help from him, who had already won a battle almost single-handed. There were not even any summons to any of the war councils that would have taken place under normal circumstances. They merely followed the main army and kept to their camp at the outskirts.<p>

That morning Eirik awoke early in the morning, finding himself lying in the carriage which had doubled as the living quarters for himself and his little family. Mjoll's head was resting on his shoulder, just as his head had been resting on top of hers when he awoke. Lucia had also fallen asleep with them, the right side of her head resting on Mjoll's stomach, listening to the movement of her unborn sibling. Eirik thanked the gods that he had finally been given something without stipulation or clause. _This_ was worth fighting for; the peace and happiness of their little family. Perhaps, when all of this was over, he could take them back to Lakeview to begin their new life together. But another part of him said that it would not be over, and even if it ended, there would be no going back in truth. Part of him was gone, and only the battlefield seemed to fill that void.

Wearily he rose up, looking first at Mjoll and then Lucia. When he saw them sleeping there in peace, it filled his heart with happiness and determination. The doubts and fears of his mind which plagued him so often seemed to melt away looking at them. They were safe and at peace because he refused to give in and took the fight to the Dominion: their child inside Mjoll's womb would have a safe world in which to live because of his actions. There was no doubt in his mind at this point what had to be done.

"Talos," he said. "Give me the strength to carry on and the peace of mind never to doubt myself again. For them."

Just then there was a knock at the door of the carriage. Eirik carefully rose up and walked over to the door, opening it up to answer it. There stood Vilkas, who took one look at the dark inside of the carriage and averted his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to intrude..."

"What would you be intruding on?" Eirik asked. "You know she's pregnant."

"Well, I know that," Vilkas stated. "But I've heard of certain Mephala cults in Morrowind who take delight in such...exploits."

"I don't worship Mephala," Eirik said. "Or any daedra. But why are you here? Did you get it?"

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. "Hermir has it, over there." He gestured to a small group where the other Companions stood away from the carriage. "We recovered it as promised."

"Good," Eirik said. "The axe of Ysgramor should be wielded against his ancient enemies, especially in defense of his people."

"What about us?" the voice of Aela asked. From the other side of the carriage came Aela, leaning upon her bow which stood in the ground. "Shall the Companions go on being divided?"

"Shall you continue to stay out of this war?"

"We've already gone over this," said Vilkas. "We're not going to any war."

"But I am," Eirik said. "Not as your Harbinger, but as a Son of Skyrim. If you will not follow my example, so be it. I will not judge you."

"But will you not care for your shield-brothers and sisters?" Aela said. "As _we_ cared for you when we sought out Mjoll!"

"I know," Eirik groaned. "I have great responsibilities on my head. I swear that, gods willing, the moment this war is over, I shall return straightaway to Whiterun and lead you back into the Hall of Jorrvaskr."

"Some of us aren't so sure about that," Vilkas stated. "Farkas had to wait with the others, he's beside himself with rage. He thinks you've betrayed the Companions."

"Need I remind you," Eirik stated. "That before the Siege of Volkihar Castle, _you_ lot kidnapped me and forced me to go into Ysgramor's Tomb to put Kodlak's soul to rest. If you attempt the same thing again, I promise you that I will break Wuuthrad and send you back the pieces and say 'the White take you and the Companions!'"

"You would do that to us?" Aela asked. "After everything we've done for you?"

"I am a man of my word," Eirik said firmly. "But I will do all things in my own time. No sooner and no later."

"But, Eirik..." Vilkas said.

"Do not interrupt me!" Eiirk shouted. "I am tired of being talked down to, by Crixus, by Rikke, by Galmar, by my own huscarl, and now you! I have acted according to my own free will! I will win this war and then I will give you back Jorrvaskr!"

"If you wish to be free of us," Aela said. "Then just say the word."

"Papa?"

Eirik turned around and saw little Lucia poking her head from out of the door of the carriage. Apparently their arguing had awoken her and she wanted to hear the reason.

"Are you having another fight?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Eirik said. "I shouldn't have raised my voice. Go back to sleep."

"Lucia!" Aela exclaimed. "It's been a while since I've seen you. Have you been good?"

"Mhm," she shook her head with a smile. Lucia and Aela had become close during their stay in Evermore. "Do you have your bow with you?"

"I have it here," Aela said, lifting up her bow. "Do you want me to show you how to shoot it?" Lucia nodded, then climbed out of the carriage as Aela led her aside to shoot with the bow. Vilkas turned to Eirik, who shook his head.

"I shouldn't have snapped," Eirik said. "It's just that I've been having so much trouble with my own fears and doubts that I'm tired of being forced and coerced. I promise that I _will_ do as I have sworn: I will return Jorrvaskr to you and reunite the Companions. I don't ask you to do anything else, only to wait."

Just then a noise rose up from the camp of the main army. It sounded as though they were preparing for battle with men running about, orders being given, horses being saddled and readied for a sortie of cavalry and the siege wagons being dragged away from the rear of the camp.

"What's going on?" Vilkas asked.

"I don't know," Eirik replied. "I've been kept in the dark about what they're up to."

Eirik swiftly made his way towards the camp of the main army. True to the sound, it was indeed filled with men and women hurrying about, readying themselves for battle. He made his way towards the Orc camp, where they were painting themselves with blood and woad-paint for the oncoming battle. As he passed through the camp, he saw Gorak walking nearby and called out to him.

"What's all this?" he asked.

"We're preparing to siege the town of Dragon Bridge," the Orc replied.

"On whose orders?" Eirik asked.

"Those of Crixus," said Gorak.

"Damn that man!" Eirik groaned. "He kept me out of the...where is he?"

"At the front of the army, that way," Gorak pointed towards the north, where the mountains of Haafingar loomed, snow-capped at their highest peaks.

Eirik ran as swift as he could towards the given direction, passing through the Legion lines that were now getting into formation. On and on he rode until he reached the front and saw, just a few feet to his left, Crixus, Rikke and Esbern sitting atop their horses as if waiting. Around them were a cadre of the High Rock battle-mages cohort as well as the siege wagons being unloaded.

"By the Nine!" Eirik shouted. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What is _he_ doing here?" Rikke asked.

"Why have I been excluded from the war council?" Eirik asked. "Why have I not been allowed to join the fight? What about the Sons of Skyrim?"

"You've been stealing our glory," Crixus said, staring down his horse and his nose at Eirik. "This is the Empire's victory over the Dominion. We must assure you and the people of Skyrim that the Empire is law and that Skyrim belongs to the Empire."

"No," Eirik retorted. "Skyrim belongs to her people, and it shall be _her_ people that will defend her, not you!"

"You are in no condition to argue or demand anything," Crixus laughed. "Now stand aside, Nord. I have a war to win." He then spurred his horse forward, towards the southern side of Dragon Bridge, with Rikke galloping after him. Before Esbern spurred his horse, Eirik turned to him.

"Take me with you," Eirik said.

"You know I won't be going into battle myself," Esbern retorted.

"I don't care!' Eirik retorted. "I want to know what he's doing, what he's been planning without me."

Esbern nodded, then Eirik leaped onto the back of his horse and held on as he galloped after Crixus and Rikke, keeping at the rear so as to avoid their sight. Beyond them was the city of Dragon Bridge, spilling onto both sides of the Karth River and connected by the great stone bridge built with the head of a dragon engraved in stone on its highest arch. At the top of the stone wall there stood many elves in golden armor and one Thalmor justicar standing over the gates.

"You are in violation of the White-Gold Concordant," Crixus said. "Or do you only uphold those terms which best benefit you?"

"Stupid human!" the justicar retorted. "The White-Gold Concordant as a whole benefits the Dominion alone. We have let your foolish Empire live as long as it was needful. Now the time has come to put it to an end: long live the Dominion!"

"Well, that makes things simpler," Crixus stated. "Now as you can see, I have an army behind me. So surrender the town of Dragon Bridge."

The justicar laughed. "Do you think that I would give you this rat's nest of a town if you merely asked for it?"

"If you don't," Crixus returned. "I will tear your wall to get to it."

"Why?" asked the justicar. "What do the lives of a few ignorant Nords mean to you? If you attack this town to siege it, I will kill every last Nord in this village and hang their bodies from the walls of the town and from every house."

"Go ahead," Crixus returned. "You've already killed Nords here before, a few more won't mean anything to me. Perhaps you think I'm an idiot Nord you can coerce with empty threats. Your town stands between me and Solitude and I am prepared to burn down every house with everyone inside if it gets me this damned town."

"This is insane," Eirik mumbled to Esbern. "He'll burn down an entire town just to take the advantage over the elves?"

"Indeed," Esbern stated. "He is as ruthless as the ancient Akaviri were on their path of destruction across Tamriel, before they found Reman Cyrodiil."

"I have to do something," Eirik hurriedly said. "Take me back to my camp!"

"I have to say at the front or else Crixus will suspect something," Esbern replied.

Eirik groaned, then leaped off the horse and ran back towards the main army. Those on the wall around Dragon Bridge laughed at the retreat, but kept their eyes on the two standing before their gates. One lone soldier deserting his duty was nothing to them. But Eirik was not deserting his duty, not this time. He knew what had to be done: though Dragon Bridge was in Haafingar, a loyalist hold, it was a Nord town in Skyrim. Its people did not deserve to die just because Crixus was being an ass again.

* * *

><p>By the time Eirik finally reached the camp of the Sons of Skyrim, he could hear explosions in the distance, by the front-lines of the main army. The siege was already underway. He was too late, but perhaps not so much. There would be a siege, but he would prevent the town from being raised if meant charging out single-handedly to take down the Thalmor garrison. When he arrived at the camp, gasping and heaving from the swift run without having eaten anything that morning, he saw the others already on their feet, gearing up for the battle.<p>

"Shor's bones!" Galmar exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"They've started the battle...without us," Eirik gasped.

"Damn Imperial bastards!" roared Galmar. "They seek to take all the honor away from us!"

"It's worse," Eirik continued. "Crixus is determined to win, even if he has to destroy Dragon Bridge in the process."

"The fool!" Galmar laughed.

"I can't let him do this," Eirik resolved, walking towards the carriage. He knocked upon the door and, shortly, Lucia popped her little, dark-haired head from out of the door.

"Hand me the skull," Eirik asked.

Lucia nodded, then disappeared only to return moments later, holding the Skull of Arvak. Eirik needed a steed that would not balk before danger, one that would not die. As he took the skull from Lucia, his adopted daughter, he heard Lydia calling his name. Turning around, he saw her standing nearby, holding his dragon-bone gauntlets.

"I took the liberty," she stated. "Of getting your armor for you. I thought you'd be wanting to go into battle ready."

"Thank the Nine for you, Lydia!" Eirik smiled grimly.

It did not take Lydia long to retrieve the rest of Eirik's armor, nor long for Lydia to assist Eirik in gearing up for the battle. Before Mjoll came into his life, Lydia had been helping Eirik into his armor: it was down to an art by now. Lastly she brought forth the Great-sword of the Skaal, but Eirik shook his head.

"There is only one weapon I will now take into battle against the Dominion," Eirik replied. After briefly scanning the camp of the Sons of Skyrim, he walked over to where the Companions lingered, by themselves a little apart from the camp. Behind him walked Lydia, a frustrated look on her face as she carried both the Great-sword of the Skaal and Arvak's skull.

"You said you have it with you," Eirik addressed Vilkas. "Well, now's the time for it to see use again."

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Vilkas asked. "Some might see it as the Companions going to war, as we specifically said that we wouldn't..."

"It will unite Skyrim's children against their common foe," Eirik returned. "Let me have it."

Vilkas turned to Hermir and gestured for her to approach. The young Nord woman walked towards Eirik and Vilkas, bearing something long draped in a red velvet cloth. Tossing aside the cloth, Eirik held aloft Wuuthrad, the axe of Ysgramor. Taking it in both of his hands, he secured it onto his back, where the Great-sword of the Skaal usually went. He then held aloft Arvak's skull, commanding the horse to appear before him. There was a bright flash of violet light and then the skeletal horse appeared in a blaze of blue fire. Eirik leaped onto the horse's back and cried aloud:

"Onward, Arvak!" he said. "Ysgramor has returned to drive the elves out of our land! Take me to the battle!"

With a roar, the horse reared up and charged northward, towards the bright flashes and bursts of fire. Very few remained in the camp of the main army that had not yet joined the siege, but those few who remained quickly leaped out of the way as the fiery horse galloped through the camp, snorting wildly.

As the horse carried Eirik towards the siege-line, the whole of the battle-field opened up to him. The wall on the southern end of Dragon Bridge - known to outsiders as Markarth Side despite being over twenty miles north-east of Markarth - was lined with gold and green soldiers and officers of the Dominion forces. Conjured arrows like flashes of blue light burst from the walls periodically, erupting into bright, blue-white flashes as they burst through steel, leather, cloth and flesh of those unfortunate enough to be at the front of the assault. On the side of the main army, however, things were different. Breton battle-mages had been brought forward and were even now hurling fire and bolts of arcane lightning towards the defenders. It looked like a battle of the gods, with fire and lightning being used by both armies instead of steel and arrows.

Those in the rear lines of the main army pulled aside as Arvak carried Eirik into the battle-field. None of the elves' conjured arrows penetrated his dragon-bone armor, nor struck down the magically-bound Arvak. The hilly distance between the front-lines and the stone wall of southern Dragon Bridge was quickly crossed and in the middle, Eirik brought Arvak to a halt and, turning to the town, held up Wuuthrad for all to see.

"Armies of the Dominion!" Eirik cried with a loud voice. "Behold the Elf-grinder, the Axe of Ysgramor, forged anew! Open now your gates or every one of you will die this day. The North Wind has come to drive you out of this land!"

Some of those on the wall laughed. Others stood stone-faced and silent, their golden bows hanging loosely at their sides, gazing silently down at the harbinger of their grim fate. While yet others, knowing the legends of Wuuthrad, cowered behind the walls, whimpering and praying to Auri-El. Those officers who were still masters of themselves called for live arrows to be brought up from the stores.

But Eirik had not been idle after his speech. Spurring Arvak into a gallop, he charged the gates, swinging Wuuthrad with both hands as he passed by the great wooden door. With a loud cry, he swung the mighty battle-ax out across his right side, striking the door with such strength as to surely un-horse anyone else. The blow stuck fast the ax-blade in the door and Eirik barely had time to seize the bony back of Arvak to keep from falling off its back. The hail of flashing blue-white conjured arrows ceased as Eirik rode up to the gate and, bringing Arvak to a halt, wrenched Wuuthrad from the wood and struck again. Turning around he came for a third round when suddenly arrows came flying down onto the field. One struck Eirik's shoulder, but bounced off the dragon-bone armor: leaving his shoulder bruised beneath the bony plates. As the live arrows fell in thickets behind him, he reached the gate and struck again, sundering the timbers with a mighty crash. A single crack appeared, just large enough for...

"_Yol...Toor Shul!_" Eirik shouted into the crack.

A burst of fire exploded from his lips, catching the shivered timbers of the gate aflame and those elves behind the gate, standing guard. Behind him there was a shout, before him he heard cries of those burning and other shouts that confused him. It made no difference: he had broken down the gate. At least half of the town of Dragon Bridge would survive this god-awful siege.

Again he charged the gates, striking them open with a fourth blow from mighty Wuuthrad. As the burning gates fell open, he turned his horse and trotted inside. Burning corpses lay at his feet while before him lay the great stone Dragon Bridge. Yet upon that bridge walked Dominion soldiers, all of them with hands raised and heads bowed: they had surrendered. Behind them walked a small force of Imperial soldiers clad in black armor, yet still bearing the red livery of the Imperial Legions. These were the Penitus Oculatus, the Emperor's personal bodyguards and _de facto_ "hand" of the Empire. Eirik had encountered them during his last visit here with Serana in search of the Moth Priest Dexion Evicus. Not knowing what to make of this, he halted where he stood, Wuuthrad still in hand.

Suddenly a sea of red appeared around him as the Imperial soldiers from the main army rushed into the southern side of Dragon Bridge. They had no consideration over who took what: to them, weeks, if not months, of lengthy battle was finally over and victory had been won them. It seemed as though the Divines were on their side.

"You there!" a voice called out. From the rear of the line of surrendering Dominion soldiers a Colovian man approached where Eirik sat upon Arvak's back. He was rather tall and pale for a Colovian, though his accent was straight from the Highlands, though not anywhere with which Eirik was familiar. His hair was dark, streaked with flecks of gray and retreating from the top of his head. He had a thin, neatly trimmed mustache and goatee and when he spoke, it was with authority. He was clad in the same dark armor of the Penitus Oculatus.

"Who are you that threatens this town?" he asked.

"I haven't threatened this town," Eirik returned. "I've liberated it."

"Are you the commander of this army?" asked the Colovian commander, gesturing to the Imperial soldiers from the main army swirling around them.

"No, commander!" a voice called from behind Eirik. Turning around, he saw Crixus and Rikke riding through the torn-down gates of Dragon Bridge. As Rikke passed Eirik's horse, she glared at him in distrust and fear. But Eirik was surprised to see Crixus acting very nervous around the commander. He never held his gaze for long, keeping his eyes on the ground, and his voice seemed strained though not impolite. In contrast, the commander smiled when he saw Crixus approach.

"Servius!" he greeted. "By the Eight, it's good to see you again! How long has it been since I last saw you?"

"Five months," Crixus returned. "And seeing as how _I_ am commander of this army, I would ask you to call me by my surname."

"Of course, commander Crixus," the Colovian commander said jestingly. "It is always a good day when my good cousin comes to visit me. It's even greater when he comes at the head of an army to drive the Dominion out of the Empire's land." He sighed ruefully. "If only Gaius could have seen this. Seen _you! _You know, he was born while you were away, I told him all about you."

"Don't mention it," Crixus said morosely.

For one brief moment, Eirik saw in Crixus' eyes something that disturbed him. Despite his sudden change, Eirik still felt at the back of his mind that Crixus was just the same ornery bastard he had met in the woods of Riften almost a year ago. But now that prejudice was being challenged: for what felt like the first time to Eirik, he saw in Crixus' eyes something that looked like regret if not outright remorse and something else which he never thought would have been seen in the eyes of Servius Crixus.

_Guilt_.

"I'm surprised at how easy this was," Crixus suddenly said, breaking Eirik's thought. "We only lost fifty men and slew the southern Dominion garrison, but they surrendered that fast. I thought Altmer would rather die than surrender."

"They had no choice," the commander returned. "When we heard of the siege and saw the Imperial banners in your army, I knew that the time had come to strike. So I gathered up my men and we took over the northern half. Caught between death from us and..." He nodded towards Eirik. "...from him, they saw how fruitless their situation was. Who is he, by the way?"

"Eirik, get your arse over here!" Crixus called out. Eirik grudgingly pulled Arvak over to where Crixus and the commander stood. "I want you to meet Commander Severus Maro, leader of the Dragon cohort of the Penitus Oculatus, the highest regiment of the order. Commander Maro, this sorry bastard is Eirik, called 'Dragonborn' by the locals."

"Dragonborn?" Commander Maro asked, eying Eirik carefully. "I've heard the rumors about some great Nordic hero called 'the Dragonborn' at large across Skyrim, but I never expected them to be real. Have I seen you somewhere before?"

"No," Eirik returned, looking unfavorably at Crixus, whom he had not yet forgiven for leaving out of the battle and for risking the lives of his own people. "Maybe I just look like everyone else. After all, as I'm sure your cousin 'commander' Crixus has said, we Nords all look alike."

"You watch your tongue!" Commander Maro returned. "I'm a Legion Commander, and what are you? Some mercenary? A dog in fancy armor!"

"He's been this way since I met him," Crixus said, a smug grin on his face as he looked towards Rikke. "I have no idea why. Sometimes I think he has a stick up his arse."

"Well, you're going to have to curb that attitude," Commander Maro said to Eirik, his stern eyes bearing down upon him. "There's no place for that in the Legion!"

"I'm not with your Legion," Eirik returned. "I broke the gates to save the lives of my people. Or didn't you hear him threaten to burn this town to the ground?"

"Another Nordic nationalist," Commander Maro sneered. "Listen, your people are part of the Empire! It's time you stopped acting like stubborn children. You're not just Nords anymore, you're citizens of the Empire! You belong to us, just as this land belongs to us."

"No, commander," Eirik replied, shaking his head. "Skyrim belongs to the Nords."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I'm really losing interest in writing this story. Of course that doesn't mean i'll just end it, because i feel that it needs to be brought to a fitting conclusion [ie. anything which will be better than <em>C0DA<em>]. One of my major goals with this latter part of the story [despite trying to survive the endless, inane battle scenes] is to make a story worthy of legend and song. I started out _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ trying to make a fun, fantastical adventure story, I feel i should end Eirik's part in the story with something of that similar nature.)**

**(Okay, in case some of you were wondering "hey, Dragon Bridge doesn't have a wall!", as i have said before, the Skyrim in my story is expanded from the one seen in the games, that is why there are names from _Arena_ like Oakwood and Nimalten being used. Due to its strategic point on the Karth River and its proximity to Solitude, I feel that Dragon Bridge would have a wall, even if it has only been recently built [months have passed since we visited this town in _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_]. We get to see some things that will be resolved in the next part of the story, specifically about Crixus. Also Eirik got to act a little less insecure, since the endless war is taking its toll on him and his patience is growing short. His statement about "this god-awful siege" is, of course, premature. There is yet another to come.)  
><strong>


	52. The Long Siege

**(AN: Ugh, I have three chapters of this to work through! Oh well, the end is at last in sight. No 112-chapter story for _this_ one: half is enough. I don't know. None of my readers seem to care about the plight of the Nords or our characters and i'm losing my inspiration. I just don't know anymore.)**

**(Yes, _Dany le fou_, thank you for your reviews. They are always welcome :) Since Eirik has no living family or known relatives [it's just him, Mjoll, their child, Lucia and Lydia], i wanted a different dynamic for Crixus, since his will be the story that we will be seeing and, as you guessed, he killed Gaius Maro. Basically, though, Crixus' mother was Commander Severus Maro's father's sister. I wrote a whole family tree for the Maro family, since they will be a little bit bigger in my fan-fic than just two people in Dragon Bridge.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Long Siege<strong>

After the brief magical assault on the city of Dragon Bridge, there was one last war council gathered. Eirik was, once again, ignored from the proceedings and plans were made in spite of him. The Penitus Oculatus were now part of the main army and had a place in the camp, and their Commander Maro was attending the war councils, according to what Lydia had picked up from camp gossip.

"They wouldn't let me stand within ear's reach of their tent," Lydia told Eirik on the second night after the siege.

When the morning dawned, bright and early, the main army remained in their camp outside of Dragon Bridge. The day passed without notice or messenger arriving from anyone, though there was a black raven noted flying over the camp of the Sons of Skyrim. Some said they had seen a raven - or that one in particular - flying over Eirik the Dragonborn in the three battles in which he fought. Others said that it was an omen of doom, that death would come to the Sons of Skyrim. Most, though, ignored the bird as just a scavenger seeking out the blood of the slain after the battle.

The next night passed uneventfully, with Eirik having a late dinner with the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim around their camp. While they sang songs about the end of summer and the heroes of old, a lone figure, massive in size, bearing a torch appeared out of the darkness, slowly approaching the camp of the Sons of Skyrim from the camp of the main army. As they began to take notice of the figure, the Sons of Skyrim began fingering their weapons, ready to strike at what they feared might be an assassin or giant. At last the light cast upon the figure's face, Eirik saw who it was: neither giant nor assassin, but just as dangerous.

"I have come for your commander," Torgrim said to those around. "I have a message for him from Commander Crixus."

"What's the message?" Eirik asked, rising up from where he sat between Lydia and Galmar.

"My orders are to deliver the message to you alone," Torgrim returned.

"There are no secrets among us," Eirik replied.

"I insist."

Eirik sighed wearily, then walked out of the circle and followed Torgrim away from the camp into the field between them, where Torgrim delivered his message.

"So?" inquired Eirik. "What's this about?"

"Tomorrow is the second and twentieth day of Sun's Height," Torgrim began. "Commander Crixus is determined to bring this little Thalmor insurrection to a halt before the month is up. He has laid his plans for the taking of Solitude, where the main bulk of the Dominion army is located."

"What about Whiterun or Dawnstar?" Eirik asked. "Are there not still troops stationed there as well?"

"Forgive me," Torgrim replied. "But I was not told to argue. I am only here to give you your orders. You are to follow Commander Maro, Gorak and the battle-mage divisions from High Rock to the northern edge of the marshes, at the bottom of the Kilkreath Mountains and the mouth of the bay. There you are to wait with your little band and keep an eye on the Pale while the Commander builds siege equipment and organizes the mages for the Siege of Solitude."

"I see," Eirik grimaced. "And what will Crixus be doing while we are sitting knee-deep in the swamps of Hjaalmarch?"

"He will be leading the assault on the front gates of Solitude," Torgrim replied.

"Typical," Eirik returned. "He leaves me out of the battle _again!_ Does he not know that we're the strongest warriors in his army?"

"This is not the time to be difficult about this!" Torgrim said. "Crixus commands the majority of the army. Even a thousand Sons of Skyrim will be no match against the Dominion forces entrenched in Solitude without a sound commander."

"I should be part of this battle," Eirik returned.

"You've already performed honorably," Torgrim stated. "No one will ever forget the Battle of the Plains or the Battle of the Marshes. I daresay, seeing you in those battles, I feel that I may have misjudged you. No milk-drinker would do the things you do, not for any money. I'd be honored to fight at your side, but right now, we have to work together."

"You would, now?" Eirik asked, unconvinced.

"Is it true that you are the Harbinger of the Companions?" he asked. "I can think of no greater honor for our people, and no one else fitting of such an honor as you."

"What about the Empire?" Eirik asked. "Isn't the Legion good enough for you? Don't you have the Fighters Guild? I thought the Empire looked down upon _my_ people."

"They want _our_ people to tow the line," Torgrim retorted. "While I agree with that, I don't believe we should sacrifice our heritage for it. I still honor our heritage, and for that, I would join the Companions over the Fighters Guild."

Eirik sighed. "You know, of course, that I can't induct you into the Companions. Not yet, at least. I am not the Harbinger until this war ends, as we cannot fight in any of Skyrim's wars."

"Which makes it all the more important that we band together!" Torgrim replied.

Eirik nodded. "I'll do it, but for Skyrim. Not for Crixus."

Torgrim nodded, then walked off into the darkness. Feeling sleep come upon him, Eirik made his way back to the camp, aiming to fall asleep upon the pillow-covered benches of the carriage, leaning his head upon Mjoll's shoulder or with his ear pressed against her stomach, listening for the movement of their child (he was still convinced that, due to the vigor of its movements, that it would be a boy). As he was walking towards the carriage, out of the glow of the camp-fire, he saw someone waiting for him at the doors of the carriage, someone with flaming red hair and anger in her green eyes.

"Come along," Aela said. "We need to talk."

Eirik followed Aela out into the darkness, where only the moons shone any light upon the craggy vales of the northern Reach. Aela told Eirik to sit down upon a shelf of rock while she paced before him, not bothering to light a torch or provide any light.

"Where are the others?" Eirik asked.

"They're asleep," she replied. "Except for the twins. They went out hunting. Farkas needs it more than Vilkas, but Farkas convinced Vilkas to come with him. They've been a bit odd about their gift, ever since our little trip into the Tomb of Ysgramor."

"Is it their wish to relinquish their beast-blood?" Eirik asked.

"They're not the problem here," Aela returned. "The problem is you, _Harbinger_."

"What about me?"

"You've abandoned us," Aela began. "I'm starting to think maybe Farkas and Njada are right."

"Then why haven't you voiced your disapproval before?" Eirik asked.

"You know I'm fond of Lucia," Aela retorted. "I've been fond of her since Evermore, and I'm not going to start an argument in front of her. But that doesn't excuse your actions. You're supposed to...to lead us, to follow the traditions of our people, not set them aside for your little war."

"I am defending Skyrim!" Eirik replied, clenching his teeth. "If I had done nothing..."

"What?" Aela asked. "Crixus seems to be doing just fine without you. What is there to gain by defying our traditions with this little war, huh? What do you have to prove?"

"This is my land!" Eirik replied, anger rising in his voice. "And every moment I sit at the camp or brood in the carriage, paralyzed with doubt and indecision, the more of my people die and the more the Empire claims victory. Do you think I don't know what it will mean if the Empire takes Solitude without help? Crixus will return to Cyrodiil a hero and the people of Skyrim will see the Empire as their friend: everything Ulfric fought for...everything _I've_ fought for...will be for nothing!"

"So it's your honor you want, is that it?" Aela asked. "You're the Dragonborn of legend! You're the Harbinger of the Companions _and_ you've fought in the Battle of the Plains, what more do you want?"

"I want freedom for Skyrim!" Eirik shouted. "Is that too much to ask?"

"If it comes before your responsibility to the Companions..._yes_."

"I've given you my word!" Eirik retorted. "I _will_ reunite the Companions! You just have to give me a little more time!"

"Our time, our strength, our swords, our oaths of loyalty," Aela returned. "We've given all of that to you, and what do you repay us with?"

"I will give you freedom!"

"We _were_ free to begin with," Aela replied. "Because we didn't shackle ourselves to any political conflicts. I may not like that we're not earning honor, but I see the merit of our traditions."

Eirik sighed. "Yes, I know. I have not been as everyone expects me to be, but I am what I have chosen. I won't be bullied, dictated or threatened to do one thing or another. I have given you my word, as a Nord and as a Companion - if not as your Harbinger - that when this war is over, I will return to Jorrvaskr and unite the Companions. I _will_ obey it, and may I never see Sovngarde if I prove unfaithful. I can say no more than that."

There was silence, broken periodically by a wolf howl and the distant braying of a mammoth in the higher elevations. Aela at last sighed and turned to Eirik, the darkness concealing the frown on her face.

"Don't mistake my silence for approval, Eirik," she spoke at last, using his name rather than his title. "I am still in doubt over whether you are a worthy Harbinger. Hircine's spear, I'm even starting to doubt Kodlak! _I_ could have led the Companions better than you! This wouldn't have happened!" Eirik began to reply, but Aela cut him off.

"I suppose your word is the best thing I can get out of you," she said disapprovingly. "Still, Vilkas trusts you. I will give you one last chance to prove yourself. If, after this pathetic war is over, you find some other excuse to delay uniting us, then I will hunt you down, kill you, pry Wuuthrad out of your cold, dead hands and become Harbinger myself. On that, you have _my_ word, and you _know_ that I'll keep it."

Eirik nodded, then turned his weary eyes towards the distant camp-fires of the main camp. Part of his mind was tormented once again by being dragged back and forth between his responsibilities. His first duty was to Mjoll and Lucia and Lydia, his family. But he also had a duty to the people of Skyrim, to keep evil forever at bay. Even more, there was his duty to the Companions, who had been patient overlong and were now growing restless: more so, this conflicted with his duty to the people of Skyrim as well as to his family.

But a second thought arrived while he was walking in the darkness towards his camp. He did not have to fear for himself. Already three battles had been fought and swiftly won: the Battle of the Plains lasted for almost three hours, the Battle of the Marshes only one and the 'Siege' of Dragon Bridge for just fifty minutes. Even if he was to be demoted to the rear-guard, he did not have to fear for anything. The siege of Solitude would end in a week's time and he would be free to reunite the Companions and return to Lakeview with his small family.

"Gods above," he prayed. "May this coming battle end soon. May this war end soon."

* * *

><p>In the morning, being the twenty-second day of Sun's Height, the camp packed up and went their separate ways, according to the plan. The bulk of the main army made their way north, across the Dragon Bridge and towards the long sloping side of the Kilkreath Mountains which led to the gates of Solitude. Meanwhile, the Orcish, Bretony battle-mage and Nordic bands under Commander Maro made their way eastward, towards Hjaalmarch once again.<p>

For most of the beginning of their march on their own, all was smooth running. The land was still firm and rocky and there were full trees scattered about to hide them from any eyes that might see them in Solitude. Ever and anon they would halt and look for a torch or some kind of magical flare sent up from Crixus' army, indicating that the march had not been halted and that they were to continue. There was no resistance, either in the mountains or on the banks of the Karth River: the least that stood before them was a bridge which made them go out of their way southward, but it was hardly a serious obstacle before their march. Once again it appeared to those who fought that the Divines were on their side and that victory would swiftly be theirs. The day passed and the three armies made camp for the night.

When the next day dawned, things took a turn for the worst. The road they were following snaked its way south-east, towards Morthal. But they were under strict orders not to enter the cities of the holds, especially Morthal. Commander Maro told them that they - the commanders at the war council - had agreed to stay away from the hold cities in case of elvish spies who would alert the garrisons in Dawnstar and Whiterun. To that end they were to stay to the southern bank of the Karth River, which was steadily growing wider on its path towards the Sea of Ghosts. Because of this, they could not accurately see the signal fires from the main army, as their side of the river was densely blanketed in tall pine trees.

Things became even worse the farther on they went on their side of the river. The sparse trees gave way to thin, woody skeletons with pale, bare limbs. The ground also went from firm earth to moist, soggy marshland. Before them lay a great maze of fens, honeycombed with pools, inlets, meres, washes, sounds and puddles. There was no road through the northern end of the marshes of Hjaalmarch, not even a foot-path beaten there by daring adventurers on their long voyages. Yet this was the way through which they were instructed to march.

While it had indeed appeared bad from afar, it became even worse once they set foot into those smelly, muddy, foul pools. Most of the army went on foot, which meant they had to slog through clumps of muddy grass, deceptive in that one would sink into the mud on a foot-hold that had once been secure. Sometimes the ground would give way and they would find themselves ankle or knee-deep in stagnant pools of muddy water which clung to their clothing, armor and boots even after they managed to pull themselves free. Even for those few who went on horse, it was not any easier. Their horses hooves stirred up the mud even by walking, making it harder for those who walked behind. As the horses were heavier, they became stuck easier and so the marching had to halt for a horse to be freed from the mud. For Eirik and his family, it was the worst. They had not only a horse, but a heavy carriage to worry about as well. Every step of the way the wheels became so caked in mud that riding was even more uncomfortable than off the road on good, solid ground. At every pool, a wheel would sink in, sliding the carriage to the side. Eirik and the Sons of Skyrim managed to pull the carriage out at each stumble, but it was back-breaking work, impeding their march and soiling all of them. Worse yet, they had five other carts stacked with siege equipment which was ruined if it managed to get wet.

As night fell, the armies tried to find the driest places to set up their camps. There were no such places, and all the wood of that land was no good for fire-building, being either soaked in marsh-water or spray from the sea nearby. To that end they merely set their tents down in the best places they could find. When they awoke in the morning, everyone was damp and the tents they had set up were practically swimming in mire-water. They ate a cold, grim breakfast before packing up the soiled tents and setting out on the next's days march.

* * *

><p>If they had believed that the next day would be any better than the last, they were sorely mistaken. Progress was still slow and they had just as many halts as they had on the previous day. By noon, they had only barely managed to leave the place where they had stayed that night out of sight. While the slow, arduous and filth trudging went on, Commander Maro dismounted and sloshed his way through the churned mud to the back of the army, where the Sons of Skyrim beat a muddy yet grim-faced path. Falke eyed the commander with disdain and placed his hand upon the haft of his mace. Severus Maro, meanwhile, made his way over to the carriage, where Eirik was leading the horse on foot.<p>

"We're losing our momentum!" the Commander said. "Your men need to pick up the pace!"

"My men?" Eirik groaned. "In case you haven't noticed..."

"Sir!" Commander Maro snapped. "You might be some self-righteous rebel with lofty ideals about Nordic exceptionalism, but I am your commander and by the gods you will acknowledge my rank and address me as such!"

"Very well, 'sir'," Eirik replied. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in a fucking swamp! We can only go as fast as we can go, what with all our numbers and our supplies...sir!"

"That's no excuse!" Commander Maro retorted. "The Legion could march through this little shit-hole in less than a day! Keep up the pace or I'm leaving you behind!"

"What will you tell Crixus, sir, if my men aren't in your ranks?" asked Eirik.

"Commander Crixus isn't here, I am!" replied Commander Maro. "Besides, I'll tell him the truth: you deserted our army."

"You bastard!"

"One way or another," Commander Maro retorted. "You _will_ move!"

As the commander made his way back to the front of the army, Eirik turned about to look after Lydia. She was slouching along on the side of the carriage, keeping her eyes and ears open as usual. But just behind her, in the distance, something moved which made Eirik pause. Noticing that her thane had come to a halt, she paused as well and turned around to see what it was that had enthralled him.

"What do you see, my thane?" she asked.

"I thought I..." Eirik began, but paused when he saw the figure again. It appeared for a moment, and then disappeared: displaying only the briefest flash of red before departing.

"There!" Lydia exclaimed. "I saw it, just now!"

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "The Companions are following us."

* * *

><p>After yet another soggy, miserable night in the fens, the host packed up and continued on their way. Thus they continued for another three days, slowly pushing north-eastward, trying their damnedest to follow the now wide delta at the mouth of the Karth River, where it opened up into the sea. While the marshes seemed to be never-ending, they were in fact nearing the shelf island, the only bit of hard ground in Hjaalmarch. It was here that the arch upon which the Blue Palace of Solitude had been built stretched over the bay, and the ancient Nordic burial city of Folgunður was located upon the shelf as well. Thither Commander Maro intended for their army to make camp and set up their siege equipment for the Siege of Solitude.<p>

But nine days had passed since the Siege of Dragon Bridge. No messengers had arrived from Crixus' army, whether of victory or of defeat. They had seen no signals from the mountains, nor couriers bearing messages or ravens with notes on their legs. For all they knew, Crixus' army had been annihilated and they slogged on through the marshes, unaware that their cause had come to naught.

Though morale was low from lack of knowledge of the whereabouts of the main army, another enemy began to take its toll on the army: sickness. With no clean water to wash themselves in and the midges and insects of the marshes biting them at every turn, few were left unaffected. It was now all they could do to keep themselves well and strong enough to keep on marching, though supplies were precious and there were few curatives among the even fewer healers in their host.

At last, sick, mud-soaked, weary and after two more relentless days in the marshes, they arrived at the shelf. Here they feigned to set up their camp, though there was not enough room on the south-western side of the shelf for all their tents. Since the top walls of the Blue Palace could be seen from here, Commander Maro ordered that they unpack the wooden shields they had brought with them and set them up in front of their catapults, which were being prepared behind them. All day the commander gazed northward, looking through his spy-glass towards the western gate of Solitude, for some sign of Crixus' army.

But their troubles were not ended once they arrived. There was not enough room on the shelf for all of their catapults to be constructed, and the westernmost edge of the shelf, where most of the tents were erected, seemed determined to keep the tents from staying dry. Even worse, clouds from over the sea were swiftly winging towards land, bearing the rumor of a storm. Their work would have to be put on hold, and the catapults packed up and stored away to keep out the rain.

* * *

><p>When the storm finally broke upon them, it lasted that evening, all through the night and the following day afterwards. All of the soldiers were huddled in their tents, trying desperately to keep dry, but to no avail. Even in the carriage, any creak, crevice or warping of the roof-boards brought the rain drizzling into the interior. Lucia and Lydia fought to keep the rain out as best they could, but there always seemed to be just more than they could handle.<p>

At last, sometime in the evening, as the storm lightened into a weary drizzle, the inhabitants of the carriage enjoyed a cold, meager dinner. Though weary from the long march and the arduous walking through the marshes, Eirik took little food, making sure that Lucia and Mjoll had more to eat. Lydia smiled at this but said nothing.

"When will the rain stop, papa?" Lucia asked.

"Whenever Kyne decides to blow the rain-clouds away," Eirik replied.

"You mean Kynareth?" she asked again.

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "In the old tongue of Skyrim, she is called Kyne."

"I wish that the rains were over as well," Mjoll added. "I need to be out and about again. It's uncomfortable in this carriage."

"I'm sure it must be," Lydia replied. "But it's not any more comfortable out there."

"At least I'd get some fresh air," Mjoll returned. "And stretch my legs a bit." She groaned slightly and her hand went down to her large stomach.

"Are you okay?" Eirik asked.

"Yes, all is well," Mjoll replied. "She's just anxious to meet you, that's all."

"She?" Eirik asked. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"I just know," Mjoll replied with a smile and a wink.

"I wonder what she will look like," Lydia said, then quickly turned to Eirik. "Or he, if it's a boy. He might have your dark hair, my thane."

"Or Mjoll's red-golden hair," Eirik added.

"_She_ might be blond, like my father," Mjoll stated. "Or red, like myself and my mother."

"What about eyes?" asked Eirik. "Will he have my eyes or yours?"

"_She_ will have your eyes," Mjoll replied.

"How do you know for sure?" Lucia asked.

"We don't know," Eirik returned. "We're only guessing."

"What about you, papa?" Lucia suddenly asked.

"What?"

"Do you remember your mama and papa?" she asked.

Silence fell between them. Both Mjoll and Lydia had heard the story before, but not Lucia. Eirik lowered his head, remembering the disapproving glance on his father's face in the Hall of Shor when he spoke of how he had served the Empire faithfully and how it pained him that his son had not. At last, however, the silence broke with Eirik answering his adopted daughter's question.

"Yes, I remember them," Eirik answered at last.

"Are they dead too?" Lucia asked grimly. Eirik nodded wordlessly. "What were they like?"

"I remember my mother more than my father," Eirik began. "I had her for fifteen years. The first memory I had was of this beautiful face draped in golden hair. She was a shield-maiden, who settled down with my father after fifteen years fighting and adventuring across Skyrim."

"What's a shield-maiden?" Lucia asked.

"A Nordic woman who chooses to fight," Mjoll replied.

"Do they all have shields like Lydia?" Lucia inquired.

"Some of them do," Eirik continued. "Though my mother told me that hers was broken when she encountered my father. A fine tale that was. He met her in a glade in the forests of Falkreath: the city guards believed she was behind a recent assault. As a guardsman himself, he wanted to bring her to justice. They traded blows for an hour until he finally broke her shield with his great-sword."

"What happened then?" both Lydia and Lucia asked as one.

"My mother confessed that she wasn't involved in the incident," Eirik said. "But she told me that after that, she admired my father in her heart. No one had fought her to a draw like that before."

"But what was she like?" Mjoll asked.

"You too?"

"I've never heard you talk much about your mother," Mjoll replied. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to be more open with me. I share almost everything with you. Like there was this one time when my father and I..."

"I think you're open with a few too many people," Lydia stated in jest.

"Not in front of her!" Mjoll retorted sharply.

"What? I didn't mean it that way..."

"Please, dear," Mjoll turned to Eirik. "Go on."

"So they became friends shortly afterwards," Eirik continued. "Then one night they went farther and when my mother realized she was with child...namely me...she decided to marry my father. He didn't oppose the idea. The rest, as they say, is history."

"But what was she like?" Mjoll asked. "You've told me about her past, but not about who she was."

"She was strange to me," Eirik replied. "She married an older man and yet, the way she spoke about it, there could have been no other choice in her mind. She was strong, strong enough to beat some sense into me if I acted up. She raised me by herself for the first four years of my life, since my father was away fighting in the Great War. But she wasn't cruel: when she punished me, she never took delight in it, it was always because I had misbehaved. I would be lying if I gave no consideration to what _she_ taught me."

"What did she teach you, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"How to fight, for one," Eirik returned. "When my father came back from the war, he was a broken man. He-he couldn't manage it. But she was still strong...all the way until the end. She also instilled in me a respect for the Divines: she was as devout as any Nord and made sure I said my prayers and went to the Temple of Arkay in Falkreath when my father died. But both of them were people of this land and they loved Skyrim. That love only grew in me when I met Svenn Stone-fist in Bruma."

"What a lovely story," Mjoll complimented with a smile.

"Do you miss them, papa?" Lucia asked.

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "I wish my mother were alive to have met you, Mjoll. I feel she would have liked you."

"A strong woman as you describe her?" Mjoll replied. "I would have liked her as well. She reminds me of my mother. I remember this one time when my brother got me into some trouble at the Honningbrew Farm..."

"And here we go again!" Lydia groaned.

"Shh!" Eirik shushed, carefully making his way towards the doors of the carriage. He had heard a sound nearby of two people talking, both of whose voices sounded very familiar. Creeping over to the door, he opened the partition and looked outside. In the light drizzle of late afternoon rain, he could see a torch sizzling with each rain droplet falling upon its blazing head. In its light he saw the two people whose voices he knew: one was Commander Maro and the other was Torgrim.

"...tried to storm the castle and suffered a defeat, sir," Torgrim said.

"That is most unfortunate," Commander Maro replied.

"Crixus is very upset," Torgrim continued. "He demands to know why you haven't begun your support of his assault on the city."

"We're in no condition to do anything," Commander Maro replied. "Half of the men are sick and the other half are weary from trudging through the marshes. Why did Crixus order us to march through the worst part of Hjaalmarch instead of taking the road?"

"He said that he was concerned about spies on the road," Torgrim returned.

"Still, he's a damn fool," the commander stated. "I don't care if he's my cousin, I'm calling him out on his mistake. It will take time to set up in this damn marsh."

"Crixus is ordering a second strike on the gates of Solitude in six days, after his men recover from their wounds," Torgrim explained. "He expects your support army to be ready by then." He groaned, then continued. "He also asks whether the Sons of Skyrim have been a bother."

"No more than anyone else," Maro replied diplomatically. "They get sick like the other soldiers, some of the younger ones complain more, but that's about it."

"Will you be ready by then?"

"I can't make any guarantees in this swamp..."

"Crixus wants a number."

"We'll be ready in five days," Maro stated. "You can tell him that. I'll make it true, by Arkay."

Eirik leaned against the wall of the carriage, strange thoughts in his mind. Why did Commander Maro say nothing wrong about the Sons of Skyrim? He had threatened to call them deserters if they lagged behind and yet had said very little about them. He also learned just what Crixus was up to: attacking Solitude on his own and, from the sound of it, not doing well. His battle-lust rose up to remind him that _he_ should be leading the fight, as he had at the last three battles. There would be no doubt of victory if he took the field instead of being held back in the swamps like a criminal being punished.

* * *

><p>Three wet, dreary, sickening days passed after Torgrim arrived in secret at their camp. With the rains having halted, work was now back underway to make the shelf more suitable for the deployment of siege weapons. Bucket-loads of dirt and rock were brought in from the ground around Folgunður to make a level, dry platform for the catapults. Next to them stood the battle-mages in deep meditation: they were about to fling powerful bursts of magicka across the Haafingar Bay towards the city of Solitude. Even by the rules of magicka, these were powerful spells that required much concentration, rigorous training and no small amount of willpower. As such, Commander Maro kept the Sons of Skyrim away from the army, as they might attack the battle-mages out of fear.<p>

Over the past few days, Commander Maro and Eirik seemed to have come to an understanding. Despite a general disregard for each other - the one by reason of his rank and political affiliation and the other by reason of his lack of discipline and perceived lack of respect - Commander Maro realized that Eirik was the leader of the Sons of Skyrim and found that things moved swifter if they worked together, despite their differences. Because of this, Eirik was allowed to hear what was going on in the other camp from Commander Maro as well as receive orders for the siege preparation.

At that moment, Eirik was standing by the Commander's side, giving him a report on the construction of the siege weapons. Apparently all was not going well and they would still need another three days to prepare.

"That's not acceptable," Maro replied. "I said we'd be ready in five days, you've had three. Make it so!"

"We can't move that fast, sir," Eirik stated. "Everyone is sick off their asses or trying to keep from getting sick, and the swamp seems to have a mind of its own."

"Not right now!" Maro retorted, taking out his spy-glass to examine the hills to the north by the entrance of the city.

"What's going on now?" Eirik asked.

"I thought I heard a horn blowing," said the Commander as he scanned the cliffs with his glass. "Yes, there it is! A cadre of elves on horseback just left the city-gates. They're charging down south." He handed Eirik the spy-glass and told him where to look.

Holding the smallest lens up to his eye, Eirik saw a company of Thalmor officers wearing malachite armor riding down the hill from the gates of Solitude. Quickly examining the place towards which they were riding, he saw lines of Imperial soldiers in their crimson armor.

"It looks like," Eirik described. "The elves are attacking Crixus' army."

"I told him we shouldn't try to assault the city yet," Maro returned. "There's no need to charge them if we can outlast them."

"How can we?" Eirik asked. "I've been up there before, there's bound to be paths outside of the city through the mountains by which they could smuggle in supplies. And what about the sea?" He pointed towards the shore on the opposite side of the bay. "Isn't there a port over there?"

"Aye, the East Empire Company's trading port in Skyrim," said Commander Maro. "But the Summerset Isles are thousands of miles to the west and Valenwood and Elsweyr are hundreds of miles to the south. There's no way they could be receiving supplies by sea. I've kept a few scouts on the northern side of the shelf to alert us to that likelihood as well." He then turned his eyes up towards the cliffs and gestured for Eirik to do the same. "What's going on now?"

Eirik held up the spy-glass and examined the cliff-face, trying to see through the trees to the outer gate of Solitude, where he saw the charge of the malachite-clad Thalmor horsemen had come to a halt.

"They're stopped," Eirik described. "The outer wall is being held against them. I see...yes, there are arrows being fired from it and...it looks like there are wooden stakes set up to halt cavalry charges."

"Dammit, they need support!" shouted Maro, who then began giving orders to pick up the pace of the construction of the siege engines.

Meanwhile, Eirik continued to watch the battle. The cavalry charge was decimated and those who attempted to flee back _up_ the hill towards the great gate of Solitude were mowed down by arrows. He rejoiced silently at this accomplishment, though once again he wished that he were part of the battle. The Sons of Skyrim would make sure that none of those elvish horsemen returned to the gates of Solitude: if given the chance, the Sons of Skyrim would tear down the gates of Solitude itself and give Crixus passage into the city.

* * *

><p>The days passed slowly, one dreary, bleak, mud-soaked day into another. At least three catapults were readied after two more days, as Commander Maro had promised, and these were busy lobbing stones towards the walls of Solitude. They had few stones, even among the ammunition they had brought with them, and Maro refused to use the special ammunition in their stores, saying that it was to only be used as a last resort. Along with the catapults, those battle-mages who were the most ready and well-focused sent volley after volley of fire, ice and lightning spells towards the walls until they were drained and had to stop and recover.<p>

A day later and a second attempt at taking the gates of Solitude by Crixus and his men was executed. Three days later, a messenger from Crixus' camp came to Commander Maro's camp with news of the attack: it had failed miserably. The commander told Eirik about the failed assault that afternoon at lunch over seared slaughter-fish, mud-crab and marsh weed soup and one of the only good things left in their stores: beer. Commander Maro alternated between his story and smoking dried tobacco from the Heartland in an ivory pipe.

"Crixus is many things," said the commander after a lengthy drag. "But a battle commander he is not. From what I heard, he refused to pull back from the assault, even after suffering heavy losses. He was determined to take the gates! Damn fool!"

"Sounds like Crixus alright, sir," Eirik returned with a smile before taking a sip from his tankard.

"Don't get me wrong," Maro interjected. "He's done well so far. No human since the Septim dynasty has been able to unite the races of men against a common foe. Some say that it is impossible, and that the future belongs to elves or beast-folk. Not while Servius Crixus is alive, I can promise you that." He then lifted the ivory mouth-piece to his lips.

"How much do you know about him?"

"My aunt Claudia, his mother," Maro began. "Was my father's sister. We grew up together in Anvil. Though his step-mother, Sedris Ulver, was not very fond of us, Servius rarely listened to her. I met her once, when I was a boy: terrible woman. Why his father would choose to marry a Dunmer, and such a one as her, is beyond me. But, that is neither here nor there. The three of us were inseparable: Servius, Venerius and I. Then everything changed."

"What changed?"

"We Maros are a prolific lot," the commander replied with a grin. "When I was five, my uncle Surius married and then at almost the same time, my mother had another child. Tyrellius and Selvia; born mere weeks apart and almost as good as twins."

"Wait a minute," Eirik interjected. "Selvia Maro?"

"You've heard of her, I take it?"

"The last time I heard," Eirik replied. "She was the countess of Anvil."

"That she is," the commander replied proudly. "She does our family proud, and she serves the Empire well in these dark times. But, as I said, my family are prolific. After Tyrellius and Selvia were born, two more came; one the next year and another four years later. Then the War broke out and everything changed. Venerius ran away from home to join the Legion, Servius went after him. My father did his duty in the Legion, as well as Uncle Surius: only old uncle Surius came back. Both Crixus' father and his stepmother were killed, as was Surius's wife, my aunt Vilenia."

"How much have you had?" Eirik asked.

"What?" the commander laughed, breathing smoke out of his lips like a dragon.

"Of this!' Eirik held up his tankard before taking a swig.

"None at all," Maro shook his head. "It's just that seeing Servius again, after so many years, sure brings back a lot of memories. Its so strange, seeing him all grown up and leading armies. You know, the last time I saw him, he was a rebellious teenager with a mop of greasy black hair, disobeying his stepmother, blaspheming the Divines, getting into fights with his younger brother. It's so strange the way he changed."

"He still blasphemes the Divines," Eirik added.

"Now he's a war hero," said Maro fondly. "The Great War, the Battle of Llywyn Pass, Morrowind, the Civil War. Serving in the army has mellowed the old man out: and most of his hair is gone as well!"

They broke into fits of laughter, seeming to forget the troubles of the marsh or the war for one brief moment. But that moment was over far too soon. There was a shout from one of the sentries of something coming through. A light, like a star falling from the sky, soared through the air from the Blue Palace and crashed with a bright flash and a burst of heat right in the very heart of their camp. Tossing aside pipe and tankard, Eirik and Commander Maro rushed into the camp, where the flash had appeared from, to see what had happened. When they came, all they saw was a single arrow of elvish make, shining golden-white yet flickering as though its brilliance were covered by something. Commander Maro ordered one of his men to investigate the arrow: there was something tied to the shaft that was obscuring the light. The soldier held up to Commander Maro the thing: a scrap of paper. Examining it briefly, he then reached for his spy-glass on his belt and shifted its gaze towards the walls of Solitude.

"No!" he suddenly cried out in alarm, letting the note drop from his hand. "Divines, no! Stendarr, have mercy! Akatosh, Arkay, Kynareth, Mara, Dibella, Julianos, Zenithar..._Talos! _This is madness!"

Eirik was surprised, mostly at hearing an Imperial invoke the name of Talos in this day and age. Reaching for the fallen paper, Eirik opened it up and examined what was written therein.

_To the Imperial and Nord armies besieging the city of Solitude,_

_Twice now you have attempted to take this city by force and twice you have failed. Withdraw your troops from around this city and submit to the will of the Aldmeri Dominion. If you refuse, I will kill one human, regardless of rank, age or sex, every ten minutes, day and night, and hang their bodies from the walls of the city. This is a war of extermination, one which you will lose come whatever may. Look up to the walls of Solitude and witness the price of resistance._

_-Thelgil, High Justicar of the Thalmor and Lord Commander of the Aldmeri Dominion legion in Skyrim._

"What is this?" Eirik asked in disbelief.

"I cannot bear to see anymore," Commander Maro said grimly, shaking his head as he thrust the spy-glass into Eirik's hands.

With trembling, Eirik looked up at what had made the hardened Commander Maro quake with fear and call upon the names of all Nine Divines. There he saw it, upon the walls of the city and hanging from every window of the Blue Palace: rows and rows of bodies of men, women, children, elders, hanging out upon the walls of the city for all to see and view and witness. Even from a great distance and through the spy-glass, they were hideous to behold, for they had been slain before being hanged out for the armies to see them.

"This ends now," Eirik seethed, his hands shaking as he lowered the spy-glass. He turned to Commander Maro. "I need to send a message to Crixus, now!"

"What for?"

"I want the Sons of Skyrim to be on the next assault on the gates of Solitude," Eirik stated angrily. "This injustice will not be tolerated!"

* * *

><p>The night passed grimly for those encamped in the swamp. The hours of light were filled with the bodies of the people of Solitude being hung out of the windows and from the walls of the city: six bodies every hour. So great was the wanton slaughter that the soldiers prayed for night to come. Only the orcs, who saw none of their kin being slain, were unmoved by the brutality. The stars were faint and distant, but near at hand, the night-watchers could see little specks of light bobbing about on the walls of Solitude far into the night.<p>

When the morning came, they were disturbed to find even more bodies hanging from the walls of the city. The Thalmor had been busy while they were sleeping. Infuriated, Commander Maro ordered the catapults to fire upon the city as well as the battle-mages on rotation. But no matter how many stones or magical missiles they flung towards Solitude, nothing seemed to deter their grim purpose.

Though Eirik had been open and honest with his step-daughter about what he knew about how he found her, he did not want her to see this wanton destruction. Solitude, like Dragon Bridge, may have been a haven for the loyalists, but it was still part of Skyrim. Many High Kings of Skyrim came from Solitude since the days of old: its legacy was no less lofty than that of Windhelm or Winterhold, or even indomitable Whiterun upon the golden plains of the midlands. It was as part of the land as Falkreath or Riften, and its people, being slain and hanged before his very eyes, needed him.

Early that morning, while Mjoll and Lucia were asleep, Eirik at last resigned himself to what he must do. There had been no word from Commander Maro about Crixus' decision: if that was not going to happen any time soon, he would go up to Crixus' camp and demand that he and the Sons of Skyrim be allowed to fight. He looked over at Mjoll: she had not been sleeping well lately, being roused suddenly in the middle of the night by strong nudges and kicks from the baby, but he knew that she, of all people, deserved to know what he was about to do. He therefore gently nudged her shoulder; Mjoll wearily opened one eye.

"Mjoll," he whispered, trying not to wake Lucia. "I'm going to find Crixus' camp. I'll demand that the Sons of Skyrim be allowed to partake in the siege. This war will be over yet."

"Mmm," Mjoll moaned with a smile. "It will be good to get out of the swamp. I think Lucia might be getting sick."

"It has to end now," Eirik said. "And I'm off to ensure that it does. I may be gone long, but, gods willing, I will return."

"Do hurry up, though," Mjoll groaned. "I feel like this baby is going to tear her way out of my belly, the way she moves so vigorously."

Eirik nodded, then quietly made his way out of the carriage, taking with him the skull of Arvak and his gear. As he began placing his dragon-bone armored boots on first, he noticed that one boot was missing. Quickly looking around for it, he saw Lydia approach, with a dragon-bone armored boot in one hand and the Great-sword of the Skaal in the other.

"And where are you off to at this hour, my thane?" she asked with a smile on her face.

"Just to the main army's camp," Eirik groaned. "I've had it with those bodies up on the walls of the city. And there's more of them!"

"Yes, I know," Lydia sighed.

"If we get to take the field," Eirik stated. "This battle will be over soon."

"Then I'm coming with you," she replied.

"It's just a short ride over to Dragon Bridge," Eirik commented. "Wouldn't take more than half a day at the most."

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Eirik," Lydia replied. "I'm going with you."

"Why?"

"I am your sword and your shield," Lydia stated. "I go wherever you lead. Also, if you're going to the main camp, you might need an extra hand to convince Crixus to let you fight. Besides, who else is going to send for the Sons of Skyrim if he relents?"

"_If_ he relents," Eirik replied.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Long indeed! A lot of things needed to happen in this story, from Aela's impatience, background on Eirik's mother, the hellish trudge through the marshes of Hjaalmarch, as well as some background on Commander Maro [he's not exactly a typical racist Imperial, he's more of just a hard-ass drill sergeant type: order and discipline]. Also i did change the spelling of only one word from the game: Folgunður is phonetically the same as Folgunthur from the game, with the Nordic '<strong>ð<strong>' instead of 'th', though it does make the same consonant sound in all the references i've seen [or near the same]. To that end, the Sons of Skyrim quartermaster's name would be Dyn**ð**or and et cetera, blah blah blah. I just wanted to draw more attention to what was feeling like brick walls of descriptive text.)**


	53. Victory or Sovngarde

**(AN: Originally this was planned to be two chapters, but since that would push the chapter count over 56, which is half of the chapter count of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_, i decided to mash the two chapters into one. I just hope my resilience keeps up and i don't just cop out on one chapter like in that story.)**

**(A lot of my reviewers keep saying that Nords aren't interesting, so it's therefore presumable that none of my readers care about Eirik or what happens to the Nords; they just want to see a mohawk-sporting Dunmer Dragonborn or a Thieves Guild Master/Dark Brotherhood Listener/Nightingale/Arch-mage of Winterhold/Imperial Legate Altmer who has a strange obsession with cheese.)  
><strong>

**(I seem to be making a lot of long chapters lately, but oh well, at least i'm getting something out. A word of caution for this chapter, though, as there are some rather horrific depictions of Dominion atrocities from the Great War.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Victory or Sovngarde<strong>

It took Eirik and Lydia most of the morning to pick their way through the swamps. To their credit, though, they were only two and so did not need to spend days upon end picking through a muddy quagmire. Nevertheless, the distance from the edge of the swamps and Dragon Bridge was still longer than they had anticipated and they were benighted by the time they reached the town. They rested and enjoyed a late meal at the Four Shields Tavern, which they had visited on their first trip to Dragon Bridge while searching for Dexion Evicus. Neither of them slept well, thinking about the horrible things happening in Solitude at that moment.

As night was falling, Eirik and Lydia sat outside the Four Shields Tavern, gazing southward and eastward into the night. Masser was hidden, but crimson Secunda dominated the night sky. The night was still and calm, with little more than the distant howl of wolves to indicate any danger.

"Feels like old times, doesn't it, my thane?" Lydia asked.

"Just about," Eirik returned. "You and me on the open road, a war all around us and beautiful Skyrim before us."

"By the way," Lydia pointed out. "I do hope you have some money in one of your dragon-bone gauntlets or whatever."

"Why?"

"We're broke," she added. "Our meal spent the last amount of septims I had in the money bag."

"Damn," Eirik groaned. After a while, he rubbed his face, then turned back to Lydia. "Okay, it's not the end of the world. We'll just have to run a few errands for the jarls once we're done here."

"You seem rather confident of our victory," Lydia stated.

"Three victories so far," Eirik reminded her, holding up three fingers. "And the army is halted because why? Because that bastard Crixus won't let me fight, that's why. I tell you, Lydia, with the army at my back and the Voice within me, I'll give us victory in only three days."

"It might take us three days to get the Sons of Skyrim here," Lydia replied.

"You know what I mean," Eirik groaned. "Still, this war will soon be over. Who knows, perhaps one day I will actually come to Solitude by design?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, the first time I came here," Eirik began. "I was spying on the Thalmor for Delphine. The second time was after we rescued Dexion and I was captured. The third time, well, I was captured again. Now I go to free Solitude from the Dominion. Must I always come to Solitude in a time of need and desperation, rather than peace?"

They both shared a laugh, after which Eirik suddenly halted and rose up onto his feet. Noticing this, Lydia rose up next to him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I thought I saw something," Eirik returned. "Out there in the shadows." He pointed towards the empty town streets.

"What do you think it could be?" Lydia asked. "Could it be a Thalmor messenger?"

"If it was," Eirik replied. "Then Crixus' army has been annihilated. But from the brief glimpse I saw, the shape was running _towards_ Solitude, not away from it."

"A messenger from our camp?" Lydia asked.

"I don't know," Eirik shook his head. "But I feel that we should go after it."

"I'd much rather camp out somewhere, since we're broke," Lydia returned. "But, if you want to walk through the night, then I guess I have no choice but to follow you, right?"

* * *

><p>In the cool night, lit up by the dim pale-red of Secunda's light, Eirik and Lydia made their way steadily north-eastward, up the great road that led up to the cliffs around Solitude. They saw no sign of the shape that Eirik had seen, and it seemed to have evaded them, if there were such a thing to begin with. Strangely enough, as they passed on, they saw that there were no wolves about, though they could hear their howling in the woods to their left.<p>

At length, as they were growing weary by reason of the long climb up the inclined hill at night, they saw a light bobbing towards them from down the mountain-side. It grew nearer and brighter until at last they could see a little of the ground before them in its light, as well as the figure of an Imperial soldier.

"Halt right there!" the soldier cried out.

"We're with the army," Eirik spoke up. "I'm Eirik the Dragonborn, chief captain of the Sons of Skyrim. This is my huscarl Lydia."

"Never heard of you," the soldier stated. "You two should go back the way you came."

"I must speak to Commander Crixus," Eirik added.

"I've received no word that emissaries or whatever you are would be up this way at this time of night or any other time," said the soldier. "I should alert the others about you right now."

"Did you see the other one?"

This caught the attention of the soldier. "What other one?"

"A figure all in black, coming up this way," Eirik stated. "We followed that figure here, see. We're with them."

The soldier paused for a moment, then Eirik heard a sword being drawn. Quietly he reached for the haft of Wuuthrad until the soldier spoke again.

"Come with me," he said. "But don't try anything or I'll introduce you to my sword."

The soldier led them up the rest of the way, until Eirik saw the lights of torches from the camp of the main army. So great was their camp that it consumed most of the heights up to the outer gate, though little of it could be seen at night. The soldier led both Eirik and Lydia up to a tent resting in a flattened knoll near the side of the cliff. Eirik could hear trees rustling in the cold wind blown off from the sea, unchecked by mountains at this height. The soldier kept them outside while voices were talking inside the camp. As they were waiting, Eirik leaned closer to the tent's fabric and listened in to what was being said.

"Don't they know what's at stake here?" he heard Crixus' voice.

"They know," replied another familiar voice: it was Serana. "But they've chosen not to fight. Nazir said to remind you of the Tenets."

Crixus groaned audibly, while Eirik wondered what the 'tenets' were. When Crixus spoke again, his voice was lowered to a whisper barely discernible over the howling of the wind. "What about the other thing?"

"I'm sorry, Crixus," Serana's voice returned. "You've been a worthy ally and a good friend, but..."

"But what?" Crixus asked. "You know the Tenets. 'Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a superior. To do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis.'"

"Then let Sithis take me," Serana retorted boldly. "I've already been fucked by a god, what more can they do to me?"

"I gave you an order!"

"And I refused it. What are you going to do about it, kill me? I'd be able to escape from here before your army surrounded me or found my weakness."

"But I know it," Crixus' voice replied.

"Then _you_ kill Eirik yourself! But I won't do it!"

This was the straw that broke the horse's back. Angered, Eirik ran towards the tent's opening. The soldier and two guards tried to restrain him, but Eirik punched the soldier in the face and jabbed one of the guards in the face with his elbow. Lydia, meanwhile, struck the other guard as Eirik barged into the tent. Inside he saw Crixus and Serana standing over a table with a pale-blue figure dressed in white apparently asleep in the corner.

"Eirik!" Serana greeted.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Eirik asked angrily, turning to Crixus. "Kill me? You've asked your Dark Brotherhood cronies to kill me?"

"I should be asking you the same question, arse-hole," Crixus stated. "How did you get past my guards?"

"Don't avoid my question!" Eirik angrily stated. "I want answers and I want them now!"

"You're a Nord," Crixus scoffed. "_And_ a subject of the Empire. You obey orders, plain and simple. You do not think."

"I am _not_ part of your Empire," Eirik retorted. "I am only here because the Dominion threaten Skyrim and her people. But you've done nothing but treat me and my men like shit!"

"No more than you deserve," Crixus added with a smug smile.

"What a fool I was!" Eirik laughed grimly. "To think that you had actually changed!"

"Look, just shut the fuck up for once in your miserable life," Crixus stated. "You know nothing at all, but, like a typical idiot Nord, you come barging in here, face red like a beet and honor affronted, demanding reparations like some high and mighty Dunmer!"

"What I know," Eirik returned. "Is that you've thrown my men into a swamp while you've been up here, stealing battle and glory from us! And as if that were not bad enough, even on our own, you_ still_ gave Commander Maro instructions that we be kept away from the others in the host, the orcs and the battle-mages from High Rock."

"You're Nords, aren't you?" Crixus laughed. "You still believe the College of Winterhold blew up the city, right? Of course I knew you people would try something stupid, even though battle-mages are a worthy asset. See, normal people - like myself - would know better, but you and your little band of renegades are not normal people: you are Nords! You would do something that stupid just because of your affronted honor or whatever."

"I've had enough of your lies and your insults and your taunts!" Eirik barked through clenched teeth. "I'm going to bring the Sons of Skyrim up here and we are going to knock down those gates and slaughter every yellow bastard in Solitude. And then, because of this injustice we've faced under your command, we're coming after you!"

"Yes, growl at me!" Crixus retorted, a smile on his face. "Roar like the bear you are! Strut your power around, threaten to betray me. You know, you make it so damn easy to do things like this."

"Things like betrayal?"

"I'm protecting the interests of the people of the Empire," Crixus retorted.

"How is betraying your fellow Dragonborn in the best interest of the Empire?" Eirik asked.

"Because I know what you are," Crixus hissed, walking angrily towards Eirik and glaring him in the face. "I know what you're capable of! You dared to do it just now. After you've driven the elves out of Solitude, shown what a mighty, competent warrior you are, you'll turn on the Empire and betray us."

"What the..."

"And then you'll proclaim yourself the next Dragonborn Emperor," Crixus continued. "And lead an army of fanatical Nords - like Nords are anything _but_ fanatical - into Cyrodiil and overthrow the Empire and make yourself king!"

"That's bullshit," Eirik retorted.

"Don't lie to me!"

"Like how you've constantly lied to me?"

"That's different, you're a Nord! You people are so dumb and gullible, it's fun lying to you, to see what you'll believe. But I have looked into your heart, Dragonborn, and I know what you want: you want to overthrow the Empire. Admit it! Even your name - 'eternal king' - bespeaks of what you want to do in your heart."

"Get out of my face," Eirik groaned.

"You don't fucking tell me what to do!" Crixus roared.

"Shut up, both of you!" Serana cried, suddenly stepping in between them and pulling them apart with her icy cold, iron-strong hands. "Look at you two, acting like two little children!"

"He's a menace to us all!" Crixus said, pointing at Eirik. "He'll be the downfall of the Empire yet."

"Do you know me so little?" Eirik asked. "How many times have I spoken of how I do _not_ want kingship? I've never wanted it, I'm no leader. I've only ever stepped up to take the fight to the Dominion because I see that it is what _must_ be done to safeguard the future of Skyrim. And for this you want to kill me?!"

An uneasy silence filled the tent. Outside the voices of those roused from sleep by the argument murmured quietly. Serana held them both in her glance, waiting to intervene if they fell to blows.

"Better safe than sorry," Crixus stated.

"If that's the way you want it," Eirik returned. "Then be rid of me. Send me away, or better yet, send me and the Sons of Skyrim against the city of Solitude."

"Ha! Do you_ want_ to die? I've already attempted to storm the gates twice and have been driven back."

"You haven't had me with you."

"If you use your Voice to summon dragons or whatever you do, I'll cut your throat," Crixus threatened, leveling a portentous finger at Eirik. "You might survive, like your little Talos did after he betrayed Cuhlecain, but then again you might not."

"The slave must fight!" a voice suddenly said.

All eyes turned towards the speaker, the pale-blue one in the corner. Slowly she rose up and Eirik saw the face of the Snow Elf Crixus had rescued from the Forgotten Vale. She walked towards Serana, Crixus and Eirik, her hands held upward with palms open in a gesture of receiving, with her blue eyes gazing upward as well.

"What did you say?" Crixus asked.

"A great tragedy will soon come to pass," Lethia announced hypnotically, as though in a trance. "The slave's natural anger and brutality will be unleashed against the High Ones and you, oh kind Emperor of the South, you will have victory."

"Do you mean me?" Eirik asked. "I am no man's slave, and you sure have a place to talk. Or do you not remember what _I_ did for you? Has this one..." Eirik gestured to Crixus. "...been filling you with lies? Saying that I did nothing to save you, that it was all his doing?"

Lethia blinked and her hands fell gently to her sides as her head leaned down, as though tired. Crixus said nothing as he led her back to where she was resting, and kept his eyes down while he was walking back towards them.

"What just happened?" Serana asked.

"She's a prophetess or some bull-shite," Crixus said, shaking his head. "At least that's what Calcelmo told me. It doesn't make any damn sense, though!"

"What?" Eirik asked angrily.

"Why she would advise your death one minute," Crixus returned. "And then advise keeping you alive and having you fight the next?"

"I know not about prophets and visions," Eirik said, shaking his head.

"How do you know her first suggestion," Serana asked. "Was really a prophecy? I saw what happened when she prophesied about the Brass-god, and it was the same here." She turned to Crixus. "Did she appear this way when she suggested you kill Eirik?"

"No, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Wait a minute," Eirik interjected. "_She_ wanted you to kill me?"

"That was my call and my decision," Crixus returned. "Don't bring Lethia into this, she's innocent...unlike you Nords."

"I will fight," Eirik said. "Not because of some elf-prophet, or because of your Empire, but because while we are speaking, those yellow-skinned bastards are killing my people in droves!_"_

Angrily, Eirik stormed out of the tent, followed by Lydia and Serana. They walked through the tents towards the farthest side of the cliff-side, up against a sheer granite wall that was part of the girth of the mountain. Here Eirik slumped down, eying angrily the tents of the main army. He had been betrayed once again and felt used, like a tool that was nearing the end of its purpose.

"Eirik?" Serana spoke up. "Listen, I know you heard quite a bit, but there's something else you need to know."

"You're with the Dark Brotherhood," Eirik stated.

"She is?" Lydia exclaimed.

"Don't publish it, though," Serana groaned. "I've already broken the second tenet just by talking about it after the siege of my father's castle. And now I've broken the third one by disobeying a direct order."

"Tell me the truth," Eirik asked. "Who ordered you to kill me?"

"Crixus did," Serana replied. "But I never told anyone about it. I kept his request to myself and kept silent in front of Crixus to make him think that I was carrying out his orders grudgingly."

"Why?" Eirik asked.

"Because you're my friend," Serana answered. It seemed strange coming from a vampire, but the words were spoken. Eirik looked at Serana in wonder: it was the first time in his memory that she had said those four words to him.

"What?" she asked. "If I were living, I'd be blushing now. What did I say?"

"Do you really mean that?"

"Of course," Serana returned. "You rescued me from Dimhollow Crypt, you helped me defeat my father and reconcile with my mother, and you never tried to kill me or have your Dawnguard friends kill me or rat me out to any of the towns or cities we've visited. I'd be quite a b*tch if I didn't realize what a good friend you've been, or if I didn't return that friendship."

"Thank you," Eirik groaned. "Now, please, let me sleep. I've come a long way today with little rest." He turned to Lydia. "You're welcome to sleep with me, since it's cold and windy up here."

"As you wish, my thane," Lydia replied. "But no funny business."

"Don't you trust me?" Eirik asked. "After all we've been through?"

"I was only kidding, my thane," Lydia returned, rolling her eyes. "Of course I trust you."

"What about me?" Serana asked. "Is there anything you'd like me to do?"

"Tell me about the other thing you two were talking about," Eirik asked. "I already know about your and Crixus' involvement with the...well, you know. So you might as well tell me, especially since..."

"Crixus wanted to use them to sneak into Solitude at night," Serana stated. "And weaken the defense. They refused."

Eirik nodded. "Okay, goodnight Serana. Enjoy hunting or whatever it is you do at night."

"I'll make sure Crixus doesn't try anything," she replied. "Although, if you ask me, you'd be careful to stay clear of Governor Rikke."

Eirik nodded wordlessly, then closed his eyes and, weary from the long travel, fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

><p>When morning came, Lydia left the camp to return to the Sons of Skyrim. Eirik, in the meanwhile, was left to sharpen Wuuthrad - since Lydia had taken the Great-sword of the Skaal with her - and spend time with Serana. The latter proved to be fruitless, since she had disappeared before dawn. The camp, meanwhile, mulled about on their business. A quiet readiness hung over them all, filling Eirik with anticipation: something was bound to happen.<p>

About noon of the following day, before the afternoon meal, Delphine found Eirik and joined him momentarily. She told him a little of what had happened since they parted ways. Apparently, Crixus had led two attacks on the gates of Solitude: none of which were successful.

"And then," she stated grimly. "We saw the bodies on the walls. Crixus practically exploded, said that we wouldn't rest until we took the city. Bolstered our defenses, repaired the picket line he made once we took the outer gate, even set archers up on top of the gate to pick off any other assaults from the city."

"Have there been any more attacks?" Eirik asked.

"Not yet," Delphine shook her head.

"What about the bodies?" inquired Eirik. "I haven't been to the front of the camp."

"They're still there," Delphine stated, her face furrowed into a frown. "Though there haven't been any more hung up, as far as I can tell."

"Why haven't there been any more?"

"I don't know," she replied. "From as far as I can see, the walls are lined with bodies. There's no room anywhere in our sight for the dead to be hanged."

"Why are they doing this?" Eirik asked. "These people..."

"They did the same in the Great War," Delphine replied. "Just ask any of your Sons of Skyrim who've served in the Legion. The Dominion made the streets of the Imperial City run red with blood. Even high elves who hadn't left Cyrodiil before the war began were cut down."

But at that moment, a horn was blown and the soldiers nearby began scrambling to attention. Both Eirik and Delphine rose up at the sound and made their way towards the front of the camp. The camp was longer than it was thick, due to the position upon the cliff, but they made good time running through it as fast as they could. Once they neared the front-lines, they saw the cause of the alarm: a large cadre of Altmer officers, clad in malachite armor, were galloping down the hill-side towards the camp.

"Hold the line!" Eirik heard Crixus cry out.

The horsemen were now halfway down the hill and moving swiftly. Eirik drew out Wuuthrad as he now joined the ranks lined up to meet the charge of the Dominion. An order was given and arrows were fired out from the wall at the oncoming horsemen: some arrows found their mark and toppled down horse and rider, but the host was still very large. They were almost upon them.

"They won't make it," Eirik muttered to himself, looking at those around him. A wooden picket line stood between them and the horsemen and, though they had the momentum, it wouldn't be long before they overturned them or broke through and then the soldiers would be dead. Eirik pushed his way towards the very front, keeping his eye on the center horsemen. He had to wait until the very last minute.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Eirik shouted, just as he saw the whites of the eyes of the horses.

The front column of horsemen were thrown back, some directly backwards, some to the sides, by the sheer force of Eirik's Thu'um. Men and horses went flying all around, knocking over dozens more and crushing the riders under falling horses and soldiers. Yet the assault force was still large and they were now only divided down the center. With a roar, Eirik pulled out Wuuthrad and struck at the nearest horseman. The ax-blade caught in the horse's side instead, yanking Eirik to the ground shoulders first.

All around him the soldiers broke out into fighting. The horses reared up before the picket line or smashed head-long into the stakes. Men with spears thrust them into the malachite-clad elves, lifting them off their horses. Some of the less civil ones merely cut down the horses as well. Bodies, heads and limbs - of men and of horses - began to fall down in thick droves around Eirik. He tried to rise but found, to his horror, that his left arm was in great pain but it could not move of its own.

Slowly but surely the cavalry charge was being turned back. Many had died in Eirik's Shout, many more had been wounded and were now hobbling back towards the gates of Solitude or being shot down by Imperial archers on the outer gate. The tide was changing. The assault had become a rout. The Thalmor horsemen were beating a hasty retreat back up the hill, the slowest among them cut down under a hail of arrows from the outer gate.

Suddenly a hand reached down and pulled Eirik to his feet. He saw Delphine standing there, her Akaviri long-sword held in one hand. The soldiers around them were charging after the elves, but as they were on their way up the hill, Eirik saw Crixus approach him, a stern countenance upon his face.

"I warned you," he said to Eirik. "That I would cut your throat if you used your Voice."

In one swift move, Delphine held the edge of her long-sword up to Crixus' throat.

"No one's throat is being slit," she said. "Especially not his."

"You threaten your own emperor?" Crixus asked.

Everyone within hearing distance turned towards Crixus. Even Eirik, who knew this, turned in surprise towards Crixus. He never expected him to openly acknowledge himself as such, especially in front of so many others.

"You're not the Emperor," Delphine replied. "Not yet."

"So now you people give a shite about him?" Crixus asked, gesturing to Eirik.

"We saved your ass in Riften," Delphine replied. "You should know by now that we can't afford to lose either of you, now stand down."

"So you're the Emperor now?" Eirik groaned.

"Fuck you," Crixus returned, shaking his head before walking back towards the camp, leaving the soldiers to murmur and rumor on what they had just heard.

"He knows how we see him," Delphine said to Eirik once Crixus was gone. "He's smart, he tried to use that to dissuade me. But if we're blessed with two Dragonborns, it's in everyone's best interest to keep both of you alive." Delphine turned towards Eirik and saw him groaning in pain. "What's wrong?"

"My arm," he groaned.

"It might be dislocated," Delphine retorted. "We have to set the bone back into place. You'll lose your arm if it's left hanging like that."

"Do it," Eirik replied.

* * *

><p>Minutes later, inside Delphine's tent, Eirik was drinking heavily while Serana had one hand around Eirik's waist and the other on his chest. Delphine was kneeling nearby, rubbing her hands together while she tried to remember what to do next.<p>

"Is this really necessary?" Eirik slurred.

"Do you want to lose your arm?" Delphine asked.

"I mean her," Eirik's head bobbed backwards, towards Serana, who moved her head out of the way.

"She said you might panic," Serana returned.

"I've stared down a dragon," Eirik slurred. "And I've had my hand broken by some damn spike! I'm not going to..."

While Eirik was yet speaking, Delphine thrust a rag between his lips, then seized his arm with both hands. In one swift move, she pushed it up with a sickening crack. Even through the rag, Eirik's roar could still be heard. His right arm flailed about, but Serana's cold, iron-strong hand swiftly caught and held it back. Eirik quickly spat the rag out of his mouth, roaring and cursing like Crixus in a loud voice.

"Just calm down," Serana said.

"Agh! Shit!" Eirik roared. "Fuck! Calm down? When was the last time you had your arm shoved back into place?"

"I had to do it," Delphine stated. "You should be grateful, you can still fight another day."

"My arm!" Eirik roared.

"I've had to set my own arm before," Delphine retorted. "I know it's damn painful, but you'll live. You'll have to rest up for a few days, though, until it's fully healed."

"I could have done it," Serana returned.

"No!" Eirik shouted. "You'd probably shatter my whole arm!"

"Will you be sure to rest for a while?" Delphine asked. "Your arm needs to heal...and you're drunk beyond belief. I've seen enough people in the Sleeping Giant to know that you're in no condition, wounded or not." She sighed. "Next time, don't try to strike a horse while its riding towards you."

"Yeah, leave that to me," Serana said with a grin, releasing Eirik from her grip.

"Where is Wuuthrad?" Eirik slurred.

"I brought it back," Delphine said. "That thing is heavy! Had to get Ragni to help me carry it, and even _he_ found it to be a burden."

"It was made for Ysgramor," Eirik slurred, speaking to the tent wall with pride.

* * *

><p>The next day, Eirik's arm was still aching, but he could move it with little pain. He remained in Serana's tent, since he had none of his own: at nights he was alone, while during the day, while he rested, he had the pleasure of her company. There was not great pleasure in such company, for she often complained about the light seeping in through the fabric of the tent, her inability to brew potions or practice spells, as well as having a headache from the amount of blood in and around the camp.<p>

"Crixus let me clean up the battle-field of the fallen elves," Serana stated. "But even that isn't very appetizing. Dead blood is even worse than animal's blood."

So the day wore on, with Eirik eating what little rations Delphine could score for him throughout the day. They heard and saw no more of Crixus, and there were no assaults made on them from the city. Finally, around mid-afternoon, there was another horn being blown and shouts heard in the camp. As Eirik was stirring from where he lay, Delphine opened up the tent flap and peeped inside.

"Your friends are here," she said to Eirik.

Since Serana didn't go outside during the day - even cloaked she felt uncomfortable around so many living people in the camp with so much fresh blood - Delphine helped Eirik onto his feet and led him down the hill towards the rear of the camp. As they came nearer to the edge of the camp, they could see the Sons of Skyrim walking up the hill, weapons in their hand and shields at their sides. The Firstborn were leading the company, with Galmar Stone-Fist heaving his axe upon his shoulders. Presently, they approached the main army, and more than a few of them eyed the crimson-clad Imperial soldiers with distrust, anger and hatred. As they came to a halt and Eirik walked out to meet them, he saw Lydia standing at Galmar's left, a smile on her face.

"Galmar!" Eirik greeted. "Lydia! Gods above, you've made it!"

"It was difficult," Lydia replied. "But we knew the marshes now and didn't have wagons to drag after us."

"Is everyone here?" Eirik asked, turning to Galmar.

"Aye," Galmar answered proudly. "We're ready to bring the fight to those damn elves!"

"That's good," Eirik nodded. "But right now, I have a task for us to do. Since we'll be entering Solitude shortly, we need a ram to knock down the gates."

"There are plenty of trees here," Galmar chuckled. "We'll find you one suitable for a battering ram!"

Galmar began giving orders to find a tree they could cut down for the use of a ram. Eirik counted the number of the Firstborn as they passed by him, then called out for Ulli as she took up the rear.

"We're missing one," he said. "Where is your mother?"

"She stayed behind," Ulli replied. "She said your wife needed her."

"Is everything alright?"

"I think so," Ulli returned. "I didn't stay to hear what was going on with them in your carriage."

"I did," Lydia interjected.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing yet," Lydia replied. "Perla said that Mjoll was feeling uncomfortable, but was otherwise okay. She did tell me to tell you to hurry your ass up with your battle - her exact words - as your firstborn will be born soon."

Eirik smiled at the news. Both Lydia and Delphine gave their congratulations, but he shook his head.

"It's not over yet," he returned. "Both of them are in the hands of the Divines, as is the outcome of this battle."

"No, my friend," Galmar, who was still standing near at hand while giving out orders, stated. "It is in _our_ hands! The gods are with us this day, especially mighty Talos!"

At that moment, a tenseness filled the air. A voice spoke and Eirik turned around. There limped Rikke at the head of three Blades and a sizable number of Imperial soldiers. The moment he saw her, he knew that sparks were about to fly.

"What have we here?" Rikke asked. "You disobeyed your orders, Stone-fister."

"We're not your puppets, Imperial lap dog!" Galmar retorted. "We fight for Skyrim, not for you."

"Skyrim belongs to the Empire," Rikke stated. "Therefore, you fight for us. And your orders were to remain in Hjaalmarch with the siege company."

"While you bastards steal all our glory?" Galmar angrily replied. "Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged!" Rikke retorted.

"I'd love to see you try it!"

"Are you challenging me, old man?"

"Did I stutter, traitor?"

"That's enough, both of you!" Eirik shouted, stepping in between them.

"You don't order me, b*tch!"

"What did you call him?" Ulli asked, drawing out her bow and reaching for an arrow.

"You heard me right, girl," Rikke retorted. "Your glorious leader is a b*tch, just like Ulfric Stormcloak."

At this, the nearest Sons of Skyrim drew their weapons, eying Rikke and the Imperials angrily. The Imperial soldiers drew their weapons as well as it seemed to Eirik that another blood-bath was about to break out. Just then Crixus walked into their midst, calling for order.

"Who started this?" he asked.

"They did!" Rikke shouted, pointing towards Eirik and Galmar. "They defied your orders and came here to cause trouble for us!"

"We came here to kill elves," Galmar retorted. "Then this b*tch opened her mouth and slandered our leader."

"Don't call me a b*tch, cock-sucker!"

"You call him one," Galmar said, pointing to Eirik. "You call us all that, traitor!"

"Traitor?" Rikke retorted. "I'll cut that lying tongue out of your mouth and fuck you in the ass with it!"

"Bold words from a milk-drinking coward," Galmar replied.

"Do something, Commander!" Rikke shouted, turning to Crixus. "They'll destroy us all!"

"Eirik," Crixus said. "Get your men in order or I'll have Rikke kill them."

"She was the one who started this!" Eirik said, pointing to Rikke.

"Rikke is a soldier," Crixus replied. "Unlike you thugs and bandits, she knows discipline and restraint. She knows better than to whine like you lot. Obviously, you and Master Stone-fister started this debacle. Now keep your men in line, that's an order!"

"You don't..."

"You're in _my_ camp now," Crixus stated, pointing at Eirik. "You do as I say or I will have your head. Is that understood?" Eirik nodded, then Crixus smiled victoriously and went on his way. As he was leaving, Rikke turned to them, a smug grin on her face.

"Yes, bend your knees and bow your head," she returned. "All that bravado and you're just a cowardly little b*tch like the rest of you Stormcloaks."

"What the fuck is your problem, woman?" Eirik retorted, his fury rising up to strangle his words in his throat.

"_You're_ my problem, traitor!" Rikke bit back. "You fight in Ulfric's name, you keep his deserters as your friends, you oppose the Empire and you make the Nordic people to stink in the nostrils of the people of the Empire!"

"Just leave us alone already."

"Or what? You'll Shout me down, just like your lover Ulfric did to High King Torygg? Go ahead then, b*tch."

"Do it!" Galmar added. "She's been nothing but trouble ever since High Hrothgar!"

"Do it, already! Do you think I'm afraid of you? You don't frighten me, little man! Go ahead, Shout me down! I dare you, I fucking _dare_ you to do it!"

Eirik growled, but shook his head.

"What's the matter? Are you afraid?"

"You want me to do it, don't you?" Eirik asked. "Crixus is afraid that I'll turn against him once this siege is done."

"The commander fears nothing!"

"Then why did he send us to rot in the marshes?"

"To teach you respect!"

"He wants the glory for winning this war," Eirik stated. "He fears what I have because it makes me dangerous, dangerous to you and your Empire. If I Shout you down, it'll prove him right and he'll kill me." He shook his head. "Find yourself another scapegoat. I'm here for Skyrim, not for your Empire."

Rikke called after him, but Eirik ignored her. There would be no getting through to her, not this way at least. She believed whole-heartedly in the Empire and words would not change that: worse yet, yielding to his temptation to strike her would bring no good as well. He had to leave it be, or it would be the end of him.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Eirik sat with Galmar around the camp-fire the Firstborn had prepared after the long day of wood-cutting. They had made a usable ram out of one of the trees and were even now driving poles through its girth where there were no branches.<p>

"Do you think we'll be ready tomorrow?" Eirik asked.

"We're ready right now," Galmar proudly replied. "To run up that hill and take this city back for Skyrim."

"Good," Eirik nodded. "Then we'll march before daybreak. It's a long way up that hill and if we strike before dawn, we may have the element of surprise on our side."

"You'll be a leader yet, Dragonborn," Galmar chuckled deeply.

"If you say so," Eirik sighed. For a while they sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire, the distant howling of wolves and the half-drunken singing of the Sons of Skyrim. Then, looking over his shoulder towards the castle, Eirik turned back to Galmar and asked him what had been on his mind since the Sons of Skyrim arrived.

"Did you see the bodies hanging on the walls of the city?"

"Aye," Galmar nodded. "Typical of the high elves, wanton slaughter of anyone in their way. Just like in the War."

"Tell me about it," Eirik asked. "Delphine told me about the Battle of the Red Ring, but she said to ask you lot who had served to tell me what happened."

Galmar shook his head, a grim, sorrowful expression on his face reflected in the light of the fire.

"If we break through those gates," Eirik said. "I need to know what we'll be up against inside the streets of Solitude."

"Only the Nine know all that the Thalmor have done to our people," Galmar began. "From the War to this moment. But I was there, at the Battle of the Red Ring, and I have seen a measure of what they do with my own eyes: and I curse my fate that I had to have seen it." He sighed, pushed back his bear-skin hood, revealing his head of long, graying hair, and then spoke again.

"It had been a year since the Dominion took the Imperial City," he continued, gazing into the fire. "We knew that they were ruthless from the reports of the sieges of Leyawiin and Bravil, and some of us had actually been there when the Emperor ran the blockade. But it was only when we returned to the capital and saw it with our own eyes that we knew the whole truth. The streets were painted black with old blood, with bodies lying all everywhere. Many had long since decayed into bones, but some of the others were new and we could see how they died. Some were strangled, others were stabbed, or beheaded. Others had been...tortured to death. They had their eyes gouged out or burn-marks on their bodies, scars on their backs from flails, others had been skinned and left to rot in the sun. Women had their breasts cut off, and...some of them had knife wounds in their stomachs, as though they had been carved open.

"Many buildings were burned down or looted and there were dead lying in the doorways, defending themselves. Even I, a soldier, could tell that not all of the bones and bodies lying in the streets belonged to humans. There were some elves with high-domed skulls or the beast-folk as well. It seemed to me then that the Dominion were not to be trusted: they wanted to destroy us and they wouldn't stop for anything if it stood in their way...not even their own kind." He cleared his throat and then turned back to Eirik.

"I know I've said some things about you in the past," he continued. "I've doubted your loyalty and questioned your devotion. You can see now why I have no love for the Empire, and why Ulfric had none either: when the White-Gold Concordant was signed, they left us at the mercy of those murderous elves. Treating with them is not an option. I'm not like these double-talking Colovians: I speak plainly, so that you know the truth and not be flattered."

"I know," Eirik nodded. "Get some sleep, Galmar. We fight ere the dawn."

* * *

><p>While all of Skyrim was still blanketed in darkness, Eirik, who had remained awake that night, went to the tents of the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim, waking them up from their slumber as best he could and urging them to wake the rest of their host up and get them ready for battle. Today was the day; he was determined to take the city of Solitude.<p>

Eirik allowed only one torch to light their path and one at the rear. His plan was to cross as much ground as he could to reach the gate before they were discovered and the elven archers upon the walls fired upon them. Lydia was at Eirik's right, holding up the front torch. Behind them walked the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim, carrying the battering ram made out of a whole pine-tree. Behind them in a tight cluster were the less than two hundred Sons of Skyrim that had joined since Eirik liberated Riften. At the very rear was the second torch. They had little light to go on, but Eirik knew that any greater light would alert the enemy on the walls to their presence.

Step by step they made their way, steel-faced and determined, up the hill towards the gates of Solitude. Darkness was their cover, but only for a while longer. Eirik refused to let this opportunity slip past him. He wanted to get as close as he could to the gates before dawn broke out upon the hill-side. In the deep darkness, many of those in the main army, were they now marching forward, would have quaked with fear, believing themselves to be marching on towards their death. The Sons of Skyrim welcomed the march with no fear: to them, Sovngarde awaited the brave and victorious dead. They would not shirk from the danger: to them, they had nothing to lose and all to gain. Victory meant the safety of Skyrim, death meant a swift and sure path to Sovngarde.

But they were going too slowly. The march up-hill, carrying the heavy wooden ram, was anything but easy. Foot by foot they pushed onward, up the hill a bit more and then some. The dark of night was fading to indigo over towards the Velothi Mountains far in the east. The great black shape, the silhouette of the walled city of Solitude, began to appear clearly in the early morning sky before them. Soon it would be bright enough for those on the walls to see them without torches. Maldor, Lalla, Inghild, Thorald and Calder lifted up their shields upon the heavy pine ram, while Lydia held hers as ther side.

Suddenly bells rang out from the city and tinny trumpets were being sounded. Someone on the walls had seen them. The jig was up and soon arrows would be raining down upon them.

"Shields up!" Eirik shouted.

Those around him lifted up their shields as they marched forward. Those who held the wooden ram marched on, fearing what would happen next. There were no shields for them. Step by step they neared the great iron-bound gate of Solitude. Eirik was now close enough to Shout at those above them. He could see the gold-clad soldiers in the dim light, their conjured arrows glistening blue in the darkness. From the three battles he had fought, he knew that their arrows could pierce through armor.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" he Shouted, aiming at the walls.

The bodies hung there flew back like chaff in the wind, while the elves on the top of the wall were thrown back, giving them a few precious moments of time.

"To the gate!" Eirik shouted again. "Break it down!"

The great ram swung towards the gate, striking it with a mighty blow. A great shiver went through bearer and gate at the might of the blow, but there was no dent made upon it. Again the Sons of Skyrim dragged the ram back and thrust it forward, slamming with full force into the gate. A small chip of shivered wood broke off of the gate from the blow and the gates shook, but they still held fast.

As his voice was recovering, Eirik stepped back to gaze up at the walls. He could see elves reforming on the top of the walls, under a single Thalmor justicar clad all in black.

"Ulli, Halldor!" Eirik shouted. "Get some archers up to give us cover!"

Whether the Divines were indeed on the side of the Sons of Skyrim, or whether Eirik's Thu'um had momentarily broken the concentration of the magically-inclined Altmer soldiers, neither fighter nor defender could rightly guess. What they knew was that the arrows that came down upon them were not conjured arrows, but the usual arrows of elvish make used by front-line soldiers of the Dominion. They bit hard and sundered through mail and leather armor, but the shields of the Sons of Skyrim kept most of them out. Especially useless were the arrows falling near the gate itself, for there the most shields were held up by the attackers and no arrows got through.

Suddenly there was a bright flash, like the sudden burst of the sunlight, and voices cried out in terror as though set on fire. Eirik turned about and saw seven soldiers aflame, flailing helplessly and trying in vain to put out the painful flames eating them away. A shower of conjured arrows were then fired down upon the Sons of Skyrim: few escaped their bite. Another bright flash and more soldiers burst into flames. Looking up, Eirik saw the Thalmor justicar, gazing contemptuously down upon the Nords below, and his heart suddenly stopped: in the elf's gloved hands, he saw the golden-white Bow of Auriel, a glowing white arrow fitted into the string, aimed down at the soldiers below.

A third fiery shot from the Bow of Auriel sped down towards them, sending more scorched and burned alive, running hither and yon for their lives. Bodies were now starting to pile up around the ram. Again and again it struck the gate, leaving little more than a shattered scar where the head of the tree, sharpened to a point, had struck. All around them, though, Eirik saw that his people were dying in great numbers. The victories he had won so easily over the past few weeks now seemed meaningless.

"Galmar!" Eirik cried out. "What do you think?"

"Damn those elves to Oblivion!" he roared, from where he stood at the great ram. "We'll have that gate down yet, don't you worry!"

Eirik nodded, but said nothing. He wanted to believe Galmar's words: he had not yet lost a battle and he refused to simply let this one go. They were at the very gates of Solitude, with a ram knocking upon it like a man on his wedding night. Victory was so close, at the very edge of his finger-tips. He couldn't give up, not now. They were _so_ close!

"My thane!" Lydia shouted. "If we keep this up, we won't have an army left to fight again."

"No!" Eirik retorted. "We _have_ to break through!"

"Look how many we've lost so far!" Lydia shouted, pointing to the piles of slain Nord warriors upon the field. "More are dying every minute! We have to pull back, before it's too late!"

Another wave of conjured arrows fell down upon them, the bright arrow of Auriel's Bow flashed upon its flight from the bowstring, and then suddenly, as the ram was being pulled back for another blow, it collapsed. Eirik turned about and saw the ram had been dropped: the arrow had caught it aflame. The front-bearers had leaped aside with the sudden explosion, but one was still trapped under the log. It was Galmar, the flaming white arrow struck in his flesh as it swiftly engulfed him. Throwing caution to the wind, Eirik searched in his mind, trying to remember words in the Dragon tongue, words he did not know but that he heard heard at the summit of Apocrypha. He had to put the fire out, both on Galmar as well as the ram.

"_Fo!_" he Shouted.

An icy gale, like a fresh breath of a winter morning's air, burst from his lips. The fires on the ram and on Galmar were extinguished, leaving only a golden elvish arrow sticking out of his chest.

"Fall back!" Lydia shouted. "Fall back!"

"Never!" Eirik retorted.

"We can't stay here, my thane!" Lydia shouted.

"The huscarl is right," Inghild, who had risen up from where she fell, said as she rose to take up the ram. "We won't last long in this!"

"Agh! This is nothing!" Galmar roared. "Just get this damn log off my leg and I'll have that gate down myself, if I have to!"

"Aye, hear hear!" Eirik nodded. "You see? There's still hope yet, we _can_ win this! Here, help me get the ram off him!"

"Any more of this and we'll be dead!" Thorald added.

"No!" Eirik shook his head, looking into the eyes of the Firstborn in disbelief as they were coming back to the ram. In their eyes he saw grim disapproval: they wanted him to retreat. But why? That was not the Nordic way! He had brought them this far, to the gates of Solitude; victory was so close, why were they doing this to him? Desperately he looked towards hot-headed Falke for some support.

"Come on, Falke," he said. "We can do this. You, Galmar and I, we're not runners. We'll take down the gate."

"Aye," Falke said grimly. "But today we are."

"No! No!" Eirik shouted in disbelief. "Gods, no!"

"Can you at least," Galmar heaved. "Get this log off me already?"

Eirik smote the log with his fist in anger, feeling betrayed. He could have taken the gate down; he had never yet lost a fight, he knew that victory was there, and yet he was being forced to give up. Angrily he gave the order to fall back, and for those who could to bear away the bodies of the fallen. Yet this proved to be costly, as the elves continued raining volley upon volley of conjured arrows upon them as they retreated: yea, the loss of life grew so great just from trying to retrieve their slain that Eirik hardened his heart and ordered his men to leave them behind.

* * *

><p>Crixus now watched as the Sons of Skyrim returned in defeat from their assault on the gates of Solitude. The ram they had finally forsaken and were now making their grim way back down towards the camp of the main army. There was no mocking in his eyes, for he had tasted the bitter cup of defeat many times in his life. In truth, there was only one thing on his mind as he saw Eirik and the Sons of Skyrim retreating from the battle: despair. Three times the army, including the Sons of Skyrim, had assaulted the gates of Solitude and three times they had been pushed back.<p>

As he stood there and watched, Crixus noticed Rikke approaching him to see the rout of the Sons of Skyrim. Her face was unreadable, neither jubilant nor morose. At the front of the retreating army, he saw Eirik and Lydia carrying Galmar Stone-Fist, a shining white arrow stuck fast in his chest and blood pouring out of his mouth.

"Crixus!" Eirik shouted as he laid Galmar upon the ground. "Have you no healer or leech among you? Fetch one, quickly!"

"Dynthor!" Lydia called out.

The quartermaster ran from where he was examining wounds to where Lydia had called him. He knelt down by Galmar and examined the wound. Curiously, Crixus and Rikke walked over to hear what would be his conclusion.

"Gods," Dynthor exclaimed. "The arrow has not gone through. It is still lodged inside him and will cause him greater pain to remove it."

"Don't worry," Eirik said to Galmar, kneeling at his side. "We'll get it out, and you'll be fine, and then we'll regroup and-and go back there and..."

"Dragonborn," Galmar grumbled.

"There's no need to talk," Eirik assured his marshal. "You're going to be alri..."

"Shut up and listen to me!" Galmar roared.

"He must not talk," Dynthor said, turning to Eirik. "The arrow has punctured his lungs, it will only cause him great pain."

"You're going to be alright," Eirik assured Galmar. "The gods are with us."

"Eirik," Galmar gasped. But Eirik didn't listen.

"Look, I have a Thu'um," Eirik continued. "It will heal you. I learned it from the Greybeards. Just hold on, it won't be..."

"I'm finished," Galmar stated, then laughed grimly. "A good fate for an old Nord, eh?"

"No!" Eirik shook his head. "You can't die, you _won't_ die! I won't let you!"

"Eirik..."

"No! We've never lost one of the Firstborn since Windhelm, I'm not going to lose you!"

"Keep on fighting," Galmar gasped. "I'll...look for Ulfric...in Sovngarde...tell him...tell..."

The old Nord's head fell back onto Eirik's arm. Crixus saw Rikke hanging her head, but otherwise still stone-faced. All the Sons of Skyrim, even some of the older Nords in the Imperial garrisons from Haafingar and the Reach hung their heads in respect. Whether Eirik was angry or sad, Crixus could not rightly tell.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I know this will probably go over as "well" as Ulfric's death did in this story [ie, all my reviewers going "nobody cares!" like that Spongebob meme], but i tried. I really did try to make Galmar less of a dick in this story as opposed to <em>The Dragonborn and the Lioness<em>. As for Rikke, i've always seen her as kind of a hypocrite, since she serves the Empire and yet is worshiping Talos behind the scenes. Also, her behavior will be explained once we get to Bruma in _The Dragon of the South_, which is coming soon.)**

**(Also, Eirik gets his first taste of defeat. Like actual, personal defeat when _he_ is the one leading the forces. It will, of course, force him to become even harder, showing how war can change people. But sit tight people, the unthinkable is about to happen)**


	54. The Final Assault

**(AN: As you can see, we are nearing the end of this part of the story. But the journey does not end here: there is still much more to see and do, new worlds and familiar ones to explore, new faces to meet, new challenges to rise to, and the fate of the Empire yet hangs in the balance. With my brother's desktop operational and with anti-virus working for the next 11 months, maybe i'll get more updates out faster than before and it won't take a year to finish these stories again [or maybe i'll go on to do something else, like my _Justice League_ saga]. As far as healing potions go, i still haven't found a way to incorporate them into a semi-realistic setting. I can get stamina potions and magicka potions, but i'm still having trouble with healing potions. As for Crixus, he does not see magic as a bad thing, rather as a substance which can be exploited and controlled and used for the greater good: he still has a prejudice against Nordic things, and since the Voice has its roots in ancient Nordic history - the Tongues, Talos, Miraak and dragons - he views it as a dark, evil, corrupting thing that should be avoided at all costs.)  
><strong>

**(Just as a warning, this chapter will be even more gruesome than the last one.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Final Assault<strong>

Eirik took stock of the Sons of Skyrim. Of the four hundred they had when he first summoned them, less than thirty remained of the first company that took the field at the Battle of the Plains. The majority of the company were now down to only two hundred and twenty-four. The Firstborn had only lost one: Galmar Stone-Fist. The others were now recovering from their wounds. Eirik, meanwhile, was wracked with guilt and doubt once again. He had failed as a leader once again, and now he was responsible for the deaths of over a hundred men.

He remained at the camp, holding Galmar's bear-skin as he thought back on every time he had met the old warrior. He was suspicious of him, seeing as how he came from Bruma rather than Skyrim, and even after he had mentioned that he knew Sven Stone-Fist, Galmar was still wary. Only after going to the cold Serpentstone Island in the Sea of Ghosts did Galmar take him seriously. He was starting to feel now that Galmar had been right all along about him from the beginning.

The rest of the day he spent drinking; openly he said it was to honor Galmar Stone-Fist, who was doubtless drinking to their success in Sovngarde with Ulfric and Ysgramor and the Tongues and the heroes of the Thirsk Hall on Solstheim. In his heart, Eirik drank to try to forget his failure. Even Lydia found his company odious after a while and went to find Ulli. He drank so much that he eventually passed out on top of Ralof, who helped him over to Galmar's empty tent and let him rest there.

When Eirik finally awoke, the day was not yet dawned. It was dark outside and in the doorway of the tent there stood Crixus, a lantern in his hand and blood smeared across his face. Eirik rose wearily, his head pounding from a long day of drinking.

"Come to kill me now, have you?" Eirik asked.

"Not today," Crixus replied. He set the lantern down and sat down next to Eirik.

"What do you want?" Eirik asked again.

"I want to talk to you," Crixus answered.

"Why?" Eirik asked. "Haven't we said all that there needs to be said? Hmm? You're afraid of me, you think I want to kill you and destroy the Empire. That's why you've been treating me like shit!"

"Are you still drunk?" Crixus asked.

"No," Eirik returned. "But I wish I were."

Crixus shook his head. "You're no threat to me, I see that now. If you were, you wouldn't be giving up so easily."

"Give up?" Eirik asked. "I've led over a hundred men to their deaths. They didn't ask to die..."

"Those people up on that wall didn't ask to die," Crixus interjected. "What about them? Every minute we waste, more are being killed."

"No they're not."

"Do you think the elves have stopped killing people just because they wasn't enough space on the wall?" asked Crixus. "Listen, we've all lost men. You think a few hundred is bad? I lost thousands at the Red Dog Pass, and it wasn't my second, third or fourth battle, but my first command. My _first!_ Thousands dead because of some nineteen year old Legionnaire who was thrust command by his superior officer. People die in war, that's what happens."

"I've never lost a battle before,"

"Oh, grow some balls, man!" Crixus retorted. "Everyone makes a mistake at least once in their lives. Even..." He sighed. "...even we Colovians make mistakes."

"Bullshit."

"No, it's true," Crixus shook his head. "I've made mistakes in my life, but I don't let them overcome me, and neither should you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"There's one thing about the Oblivion Crisis that has oft-been repeated throughout Tamriel," Crixus said. "It is that all the other races of Tamriel are capable of banding together during a conflict except humans. That's why the Hero of Kvatch was so significant, because he...or she...represented the untapped potential of mankind to put aside our differences and stand together. I reckon we do that now."

"Why?"

"Because while you were here, drunk off your arse," Crixus retorted. "The elves attacked us again, early in the morning. The attack's over, we've driven them back. But now we need to strike them again. Your Sons of Skyrim are excellent fighters, I won't deny that, but you can't defend for shite. You need my legions."

"Why _your_ legions?"

"Because I've been examining their tactics," Crixus said. "The elves, they like to use conjured arrows, that pass through normal armor. I've been using my...rationing of battle-mages to enchant some shields for my companies. We only have about two dozen so far, but they will turn the conjured arrows of the elvish bows. You _need_ me!"

"You're one to talk..."

"Do you think you were the only one sobered by defeat recently?" Crixus asked. "I've been forced to conclude that...oh, fuck, I even hate saying...that you Nords _do_ serve a bigger purpose than I...originally thought. There I said it, are you happy now?"

"The only thing that would make me happy," Eirik responded. "Is those elves out of Skyrim."

"And that's what we'll do," Crixus returned. "But so far, though we have been one army, we have not been united in our efforts: that is why we keep losing. Are you ready to put our differences aside and work together to drive the Dominion out of this land? Because I am."

Eirik nodded.

"Good," Crixus returned. "Then get your arse together. Today we recover from the assault, but tomorrow we make our final assault."

"There's just one thing that doesn't add up," Eirik said, slowly rising to his feet.

"And what's that?"

"Auriel's Bow," Eirik replied. "Where is it?"

"I gave it to you," Crixus replied. "It was in the cart with the rest of your gear. What's this about?"

"One of those Thalmor," Eirik returned. "Was wielding Auriel's Bow. They used it to burn my men, including Galmar."

"What?" Crixus exclaimed. "Are you sure it was the same bow? It-it might not have been some other kind of bow, a-an elvish bow with a fire enchantment or something like that? You never know with these elves and their magic..."

"It was Auriel's Bow," Eirik replied.

"I cannot believe this shite!" Crixus groaned. "You had one job, take the things out of the cart, and you failed at that!"

"There was no bow in the cart when I looked in it," Eirik replied. "It must have been..."

"Petruvius was guarding it day and night!" Crixus returned. "There's no way anyone could have taken it!"

"Well, it's no use arguing about it now," Eirik sighed. "They have it, but at least I have my..."

"If you summon a dragon," Crixus retorted. "I _will_ cut your throat."

"I'm not summoning any damn dragon," Eirik groaned.

"Good," Crixus sighed. "I tell you, no creature of that size and power is going to accept being summoned around like a dog, especially by those who used to worship and serve its kind. They can't be trusted."

"Again you remind me of my peoples' past?" Eirik asked.

"Until you learn from it and change your ways."

"You mean like Rikke?"

"Yes, something like that," Crixus returned. "Now get your arse together. We have a long day of preparation ahead of us."

* * *

><p>The seventeenth day of Last Seed. One year ago, carts carrying the Jarl of Windhelm and the Stormcloak rebels arrived at the town of Helgen in the hold of Falkreath one misty morning. Among them was one man who would change the face of Skyrim. The days have gone down in the west, now leading back to the time when the dragons returned. The circle is now complete and ready to turn again.<p>

In the world outside, things moved on much as they had this past year. House Redoran struggled to survive on the mainland of Morrowind, red eyes gazing longingly towards the ashen wasteland of Vvardenfell. In Black Mark, the Argonians hunted the wamasu as they had for generations beyond count. In Elsweyr, a shadowy group of nationalists opposed the Main and their blind faith in the Aldmeri Dominion. The counts of Cyrodiil, not trusting the official story that Emperor Titus Mede II had returned from Skyrim and had become more reclusive than usual, began attempting to consolidate their positions of power. In Valenwood, the mangroves migrated to the coast, sensing the coming of autumn in the northern reaches. Nomadic tribes combed the rare fertile oases in Hammerfell, searching for the rare ice-berries, while the Crowns and the Forebears, catching wind of the Dominion's operations in Skyrim, began to prepare themselves for the worst. The lords of High Rock were also making their plans to increase their own power by funding raiding parties into the other provinces. Further yet, across the Abecean Sea, the hierarchy of the Thalmor in Cloudrest were making their plans for the Second War with the Empire.

Even in Skyrim, the world moved on its way. In the east, Athal Sarys waited impatiently in the Palace of the Kings in New Gnisis. His messengers had departed for Blacklight, hoping to secure diplomatic relations with House Redoran. To the south, Jarl Vulwulf's wife Nura said prayers before the shrine of Talos for the safety of the Sons of Skyrim on this their greatest escapade. To the far north, on the edge of the Sea of Ghosts, Mirabelle Ervine, assistant to the Arch-Mage, arose to lead another group of students to eradicate the wraith-like magicka beings that had erupted across Winterhold after the incident. In the ever-chill region of the Pale, the Dominion garrison now faced a new threat, one which threatened to sever any support to their position from Solitude. In Whiterun, Olfrid Battle-Born and Jarl Hrongar oversaw the affairs of the hold together in Dragonsreach, while Njada's recklessness had brought the name of Companions to sink low in the nostrils of those in Whiterun: all save for Olfrid, whose son was now serving as the Harbinger's lieutenant. In Falkreath, Dengeir sat nervously upon his throne, eying the shadows for what he believed were Thalmor spies. In Morthal, Idgrod Ravencrone the Younger looked towards Solitude, gleaming far off in the distance, over a vast field of swamps blue in the morning sun; while deep within that swamp, a woman prepared to give birth. In the Reach, King Madanach sat confidently upon the throne of the Understone Keep, sure that the high stone walls of the Dwemer city of Nchuand-Zel, called Markarth colloquially, would protect the Reachmen from any assault.

In Haafingar, not a soul walked the streets of the city of Solitude save the Dominion soldiers. Outside the city gates, the main Imperial army and the Sons of Skyrim were readying themselves for the battle to come. The Blades also were arming themselves for the battle: none in the main camp would be left behind. The day before they had spent sharpening their weapons and preparing for battle, while Crixus had sent messengers to the marshes of Hjaalmarch, ordering Gorak's army to march east, towards Dawnstar. Commander Maro was to begin the assault with his catapults and battle-mages. All the pieces were ready for the final assault.

* * *

><p>Outside of the camp of the Sons of Skyrim, Lydia helped Eirik into his dragon-bone armor. On his back he bore two weapons: the great-sword of the Skaal and Wuuthrad. His left arm was healed now, but he was still angered over being beaten by the Dominion. He was determined to win back his honor, tarnished in defeat, by blood. Though he would not be leading the charge, he did not care. Once he was clad from head to toe in dragon-bone armor, he forwent the horned dragon-bone helmet and instead wore Galmar's bear-skin hood: the Bear of Eastmarch would fight this day against the Aldmeri Dominion, for the children of Skyrim.<p>

The Sons of Skyrim walked now towards the front of the army, where Crixus was delivering a speech to his weary troops. The Sons of Skyrim needed no speeches, not anymore. For them, it was a matter of honor to make the Dominion pay for their loss.

"Here we are, eh, Dragonborn?" Ralof asked, a jesting smile on his face as he looked up towards Solitude. "Just where Ulfric said we would be. It's a long and strange road from Helgen, my friend. But the gods have been with us since I first met you that day in the cart."

"Aye," Eirik replied grimly.

"I wonder where Hadvar is," Ralof commented. "I haven't seen him since...well, not since Helgen. We grew up together in Riverwood: it's a small enough town, so you practically know everyone there. But he and I were like brothers...until he joined the Empire."

"When we're done here," Eirik said, turning to Ralof. "I give you leave to go to Riverwood and see if Hadvar survived this damned Thalmor conflict."

"But what about the Sons of Skyrim?" Ralof asked.

"What our purpose will be after this war is over," Eirik replied. "I don't know yet. But I have a family to look after, a home in Falkreath to build, and the Companions are chopping at the bit, urging me to unite them again."

Ralof chuckled. "Have your hands full as Skyrim's savior, Dragonborn? Still, I shall rest easy, knowing that you are our protector." He looked over at Lydia. "What about you, huscarl?"

"I go where my thane leads me," Lydia replied. "Probably help him build his house, then settle down and help him and Mjoll raise their little family. Lucia's rather fond of me."

"You both are fond of each other," Eirik smiled.

He then turned to the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim, waiting for him at the head of the host. There was Angrim the Old, Bjorn the Young, Calder the Huscarl, Dynthor the Renowned, Falke Four-Fingers, Halldor the Ranger, Inghild Iron-hand, Jodis the Mountain, Kjellbjorn the Red, Lalla the Shield-maiden, Maldor the Lucky, Noralv Stone-shatterer, Ovlin of Riften, Ralof of Riverwood, Svenn of Kynesgrove, Thorald Grey-Mane, Ulli the Keen-Eyed, Valgard Elfsbane and Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced. Perla remained in the marshes with Mjoll, and Galmar was now feasting in Sovngarde. The Firstborn present numbered only twenty, but twenty of Skyrim's finest warriors. Eirik had fought and bled with them now six times upon the field of battle: from Falkreath to Solitude, they had proved their loyalty and prowess in battle. To Eirik, they were as close as a family as Mjoll and Lydia had been.

"Are we ready?" he asked.

"Aye," Bjorn nodded. "We are ready."

"Good," Eirik smiled grimly. "It's time!"

* * *

><p>"This is madness!" Eirik stated.<p>

"No," Crixus retorted. "This is what we should have been doing all along."

The two armies worked now as one, marching up the hill towards the gate of Solitude. The Legionnaires held up their tower shields above, before and on each side, forming an impenetrable block of shields. In the center of the column, under the shields, Eirik and the Firstborn dragged their heavy battering ram back up the same steps they had taken two days ago. Only those at the front of the column, peering out from between the narrow gaps in the shield turtle, could see where they were going.

"You say you've been up this way before," Eirik hissed. "Well then you know the elvish archers only use conjured arrows. They'll break through your shields like an axe-blade through a sapling tree."

"Ah," Crixus retorted, a grin on his face. "But I have the advantage over those archers. What they don't know is that my battle-mages march with us under these shields, as do our archers. We'll have plenty of covering fire once they start unloading their conjured arrows on us. Besides, the front-most shields are the enchanted ones I spoke of before. Surely you must remember that."

"I still think this is mad," Eirik shook his head.

"Maybe it runs in the family," Crixus retorted with a grin. "Besides, with my brains and your brawn, this should be no problem."

"Right," Eirik returned. "And who gets the glory for this victory?"

"Is that all you're thinking about right now?" Eirik heard Rikke's voice speaking from the dark. "You Nord men and your obsession with honor and glory."

"We both get the glory," Crixus returned. "The Empire and the Sons of Skyrim victorious over the Aldmeri Dominion. Who knows, perhaps we may one day be welcoming you back into the Empire."

"_That _will be the day!" both Eirik and Rikke scoffed at the same time.

"Keep quiet!" Eirik heard Torgrim, one of the front-line soldiers, whisper back towards them. "We're about half-way to the gate. But we're in arrow range so keep it down!"

"If we're within range," Eirik heard Angrim retort. "Then what's the use of keeping quiet?"

"Quiet!" Crixus hissed. "We need to pay attention to their commands. Wait for my signal."

Under the shields it was stifling hot, but Eirik held onto the log as best he could. It felt good to be hauling wood once again, even though it was for war rather than money this time. Somehow it seemed to be part of who Eirik was and where he belonged. But his brief moment of euphoria did not last very long.

"Fire!" Eirik heard the command being given from above. There was a brief moment where he held his breath along with the others in the host, hoping that Crixus' enchanted shields would hold. There was a rattling like stones falling down upon metal and through the cracks they could see flashes of light bursting above them, but not through into their midst.

"Return fire!" Crixus shouted.

"Fire at will!" Rikke repeated.

Behind them rose Imperial and Nordic archers and the Breton battle-mage companies. A rain of iron and steel-tipped arrows came whistling over the walls of Solitude, coupled with bolts of fire, ice and lightning. Some of the elves took shelter or conjured magical wards to keep out the battle-mages' blasts: others were not so lucky.

"Cover!" Crixus gave the order.

"Shields up!" Rikke added.

The shields went back up and the army trudged on forward. Another hail of magical arrows rained down upon the enchanted shields harmlessly, and again Crixus gave the order for another volley. Slowly but surely they were making their way up the hill.

"We're here!" Torgrim roared.

"Set up!" Crixus ordered.

"Formations!" Rikke expounded upon their orders. "Get those shields set up around the gate!"

"It's all yours," Crixus said, turning to Eirik.

"Push!" Eirik shouted.

Once again the ram pounded upon the gate. Around them, Eirik could hear the rattling of conjured arrows, or the heavy thud of rocks or magical fire-bolts being hurled down upon the shields. So far the enchanted shields were keeping out all but the lightning bolts: those were carried on the shield's metal furnishings and through onto the bearer. Furthermore, he heard Crixus giving orders for the bodies to be secured. He did not have time to see, but he guessed which bodies he meant.

"Again!" Eirik shouted.

The ram thrust onto the gate again, leaving little indication of its mark. Eirik grew frustrated as they pulled back for another strike. Whether the gate of Solitude was indeed that strong or whether it had been shored up in the day and a half since their last attack, he could not tell. A fourth time they hurled the battering ram against the gate, but every strike seemed to do nothing to the gate.

"Again! Again!" Crixus urged them on.

"It's not breaking through," Eirik groaned as he helped pull the ram back.

"Can't you help it along somehow?"

"I thought you said..."

"I said no dragons," Crixus retorted. "You have more than that at your disposal, don't you?"

Eirik went over the Thu'um he knew in his mind as he brought the ram forward for another strike. He had forgotten many and learned some through sheer force of will, but the brief breath of ice would not be well to destroy the gate. It might take a longer time to burn it down, and there was no room to put the bearded edge of Wuuthrad to the gate, even if time were slowed down to give him more hits. Then he had it, a Shout that he could use but from which he could quickly recover to Shout again once through.

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_"

The gates were thrown back and he could hear wooden supports being thrown aside behind it, but the gates were not yet broken. Again the ram struck the gates, and this time they quivered.

"The gate's coming down!" Svenn roared triumphantly.

"Again!" Inghild cried out to the Firstborn upon the ram.

Forty hands swung the ram back, then charged forward with all their might, smashing into the gate. Chips and splinters of wood went flying every which way with the strike.

"Come on, you milk-drinkers!" Falke shouted at his comrades. "Let's fuck their gate down!"

An eighth strike was sent by the ram against the gate, and suddenly there was a loud, sharp crack. Cheers rose up from the Sons of Skyrim, who eagerly pulled the ram back and charged towards the gate again. Upon the ninth strike of that day, the gate finally gave way with a loud clank as wood and iron were shivered and the doors flung open to either side. Thus after a long siege which lasted twenty days - thirteen more than Crixus had predicted - the main army, led by the Sons of Skyrim, finally entered the city of Solitude.

* * *

><p>A grim scene met their eyes, one that haunted them until their dying day. The streets of Solitude were filled with bodies. So many bodies were there that they covered up most of the street and were lying about in piles: the cobblestones that were not covered in bodies were covered in every shade of blood from black, brown to deep red. The executioner's block, where Eirik had seen Roggvir executed on his first trip to Solitude, was covered in blood and filled with bodies save for a single line that led up to the chopping block. Besides that, many of the buildings were burned or broken down, with many days rotten goods or torn clothing littering the streets.<p>

"Gods above!" Svenn exclaimed, gazing upon those slain here. "Is anyone left alive?"

Truly it appeared to be the opposite case. As they passed around the bodies, they saw just how badly these poor folk had met their end. Eirik noticed that many of the bodies had their faces bashed in and bludgeoned beyond recognition. Others were skinned alive and clad in garments dipped in sea water, which stank even above the thick carrion-like miasma of death which clung to the city streets. Some had the lash-marks upon their backs, ugly and serrated as though the jagged claws of a troll had been dragged across their naked flesh. Others were missing limbs, had their fingers bent the other way, or red-black holes where their eyes used to be. Still yet others were covered in burn marks, with their throats cut and some were merely drawn and quartered, with blackened entrails stuffed down their open necks. Eirik noticed with horror that not all of these bodies were men. Some were women, with their breasts cut off and burns or bloody gashes between their legs. Some also had their stomachs cut open and were covered in blood. It was in Eirik's mind as though the nightmares that had haunted Galmar had taken life even from beyond the grave and the expanse of time.

Behind them came the others under Crixus and Rikke, who got their first glimpse of the horrors in the streets of Solitude. Eirik, heedless of Crixus' orders being given to those behind him to secure the Blue Palace, made his way towards the marketplace in the town-square. The wooden roof on the well had been broken down and the stalls that once filled this area were burned. But in the center of the burned wooden stalls and ash piles, he saw something that chilled him to the bone. Trails of blood led to a large pile of ash, where a mound of deformed blackened skulls sat grinning up at him in the grim morning. Kneeling down, praying to all the gods that this was not what he feared it to be, Eirik took a closer look at the skulls and his spirit broke. The skulls were not deformed, they were merely small.

"They're here!" an elvish voice called out. "They're in the streets!"

At that moment, Eirik cared for nothing else in the world but silencing the elvish voice he had heard. Man or woman, it mattered not to him. He had felt the small life of his unborn child moving within Mjoll's belly and he realized with horrifying certainty that some would never move again. He understood now why Ulfric, Galmar, Svenn, Rolff and the other Stormcloaks could disregard mer-kind the way they did: no human, not the war-like Nords, the brutal Redguards or the aristocratic Imperials, would _ever_ resort to this kind of extermination. He knew now what Ysgramor knew when he returned to Atmora after the Night of Tears in Saarthal, and his rage burned as hot as the dragon's breath.

"_Hun...Kaal Zoor!_" he shouted, his being filled with anger.

What appeared before him was not the broad-shouldered form of Hakon One-Eye, or the slender Gormlaith, glad-hearted in battle; nor even the old, weathered and resilient form of Felldir the Old. What appeared before Eirik now was massive, clad in ancient steel forged in the fires of Atmora and cooled in the blood of Snow Elves. High was his lofty helm, made of the heads of two dragons leering upwards. His beard was long and golden and in his eyes was a fury matched only by Eirik. In his hands as well was Wuuthrad, a blade so mighty that the gods reforged it for him in Sovngarde and gave it to him as a gift for gracing their hall with his presence.

"Lend me your strength," Eirik said through clenched teeth as he watched the elves pour out from the steps leading towards Castle Dour. "That I may _punish_ these elves for their treachery!"

"Yes!" roared the giant. "I have long waited the chance to reap bloody vengeance upon these bastards! Let the earth tremble before us!"

Like a herd of mammoths charged Eirik and Ysgramor into the thickest of the elvish lines. None stood before the twin Wuuthrad axes, which ground elvish bones into powder in one strike and bit through their flimsy golden armor. Behind them half of Crixus' forces headed east, towards the street which led to the Blue Palace, while the other half and the Sons of Skyrim watched the brutality which Eirik and Ysgramor heaped upon the Altmer soldiers.

"I told you he would do it," Rikke said to Crixus. "I told you he was dangerous."

"Shut up already," Crixus replied.

"You can't tell _me_ to shut up!" Rikke retorted. "I am a Nord woman!"

"Look around you!" Crixus retorted. "The Dominion did all this! He has every right to be angry, and you can just shut the fuck up if you have no respect for the dead. _Your_ people, I might add!"

In the midst of the swath of destruction strode Eirik, Wuuthrad cutting his path through the gold and malachite-clad elves. One sweeping blow hacked one in two, while a jab from the ax's butt-end broke the teeth of another. Thrusting the head of the axe into the face of a high elf caved his face in, while another sweep cut off the legs from another. At his side was Ysgramor, swinging his axe with ease and laughing off the fools who tried to strike his ethereal body. With sheer strength, he embedded one side of the axe into a malachite-clad officer, and the other into a justicar, then lifted them both up to his eye view.

"Ysgramor has returned!" he roared. "I bring Wuuthrad, and your death!"

With a swing, he brought the axe down, hacking the first elf in two, then swung the axe up, heaving the other elf off the blade. Eirik swung his Wuuthrad at the flying elf, cutting it in two across the chest.

Up the causeway leading to the courtyard of Castle Dour they fought, bodies of elves piling up around them as they hacked their way up relentlessly. Those below had to move out of the way almost momentarily, for every so often an elvish soldier would go flying off the causeway to break their necks on the cobblestone paved streets below. On and on they fought, spilling blood and severing limbs right, left and center.

"Dragonborn!" Ysgramor cried out. Eirik, still deep in his blood-rage, turned towards the giant Atmoran. "Alas, I must return to the Hall of Shor."

"What?"

"You have done well," Ysgramor returned. "I shall tell all the souls in Sovngarde of your glorious exploits in battle."

"But there's still so much to do!"

"That I leave to you, brave warrior," smiled the giant Atmoran. He bowed and then, though there was no wind, he seemed to fade away, back into Aetherius.

But for Eirik, looking away for even a moment was almost fatal. A fire-ball thrown by a Thalmor justicar caught him in the chest, knocking him down onto the pavement and sending Wuuthrad flying out of his hand and hacking off the legs of an elf soldier just as he was climbing onto his feet again.

"_Mul...Qah Diiv!_" Eirik shouted as he leaped back up onto his feet.

As fire engulfed him and his armor, the elves quivered, some of them running back towards the courtyard of Castle Dour while yet others threw down their weapons and surrendered. Eirik charged into them like a flood, smashing heads and cracking bones with his bare hands. An officer threw down her arms in surrender, but it didn't matter to Eirik: seizing the elf by the back of the head, he threw her into two others, then tackled two more down with his hands, smashing the back of their heads against the pavement. As he charged towards another one, the officer was already on her feet and began summoning fire into her hands to strike at Eirik's back. But at that instant, an armored form came leaping towards the elf, tackling her onto the ground and shoving a sword through her stomach. Hearing the struggle, Eirik turned around to see Lydia crawling off the dead elf officer.

All around them charged the Sons of Skyrim and the Imperial Legion in a great wall of death, overtaking the elves that still fought before the gates of Castle Dour. Those who remained were slowly being driven back into the wide, open-air courtyard. Here many of the Imperial troops garrisoned in the loyal holds of Skyrim had been trained during the weeks and months of the Civil War: now they would be fighting on their own turf, yet it was wholly alien to them. Instead of the white wolf of Solitude upon a red banner, the black and gold-rimmed banner of the Aldmeri Dominion was hanging from the towers and gates.

The fray that erupted in the courtyard of Castle Dour was most fierce. None from the camp of the main army were permitted to remain behind: even Esbern coordinated the Blades in their attacks against the number of Dominion soldiers packed into the courtyard. Serana as well, clothed all in black, waded among the elves, smashing their heads in with her hands or ripping their necks apart with her jaws and feasting on the blood, only to resurrect the fallen elves to send them back at their comrades. The Sons of Skyrim fought savagely, holding nothing back against the ones who had slaughtered their people. As the tide was turning, it seemed that the combined might of the Imperial Legion and the Sons of Skyrim would drive the Dominion forces into surrendering.

But then there was a burst of light and Eirik could smell the acrid stench of burning flesh and hear the screams of those being burned alive. Turning around towards the keep of Castle Dour, he saw an uncharacteristically large Thalmor covered in a bulky hooded robe: in his hands was the Bow of Auriel. Out went another arrow with a flash like the birth of a sun, and then a burst of fire that caught man and elf alive.

The next shot, Eirik saw, was aimed directly at him. He doubted if any bone or scale of dragons could protect him from a weapon made by the gods.

What happened next was so fast that Eirik did not have time to realize what had happened until he was too late. There was a flash, like being struck suddenly by lightning, and then a dark shape passed between the light. Then came the fire and pain, burning so hot that it melted off the fiery aspect of the dragon, leaving Eirik clad only in his dragon bone armor: only his Thu'um, learned in the dark recesses of Miraak's temple on Solstheim, kept him from great harm. Then he heard a familiar voice cry out in pain: his hear stopped as his mind returned to the events of the day before yesterday, his first great loss.

Then he saw, lying on the ground before him, catching fire swiftly, the form of Lydia. In shock and regarding not his own limits, Eirik shouted "_Fo!_" onto her. He could feel his throat buckling out, as though something was pulling it apart from both sides. He could barely breathe as he turned Lydia's body over; she had been shot through the chest with a golden-white arrow. Heedless of what might happen next, he took the arrow and pulled it out of her chest. Lydia lurched forward, blood gushing out of her chest and pouring out of her mouth.

"Lydia..." Eirik gasped, his voice thin and raspy as he tried to speak, yet found that his voice failed him.

Lydia did not speak, but her blue eyes said everything. He could see in them the restrained gladness at their first meeting in Dragonsreach, when she learned from Jarl Balgruuf that she was to be huscarl to the Dragonborn of legend. There was also the happiness that met him upon returning to Breezehome after his battle with Sosyoldinok, the warm guiding through their love-making in the woods south-west of Hjaalmarch, the eagerness as she stood at his side in the mists of Sovngarde, staring down the World Eater face to face. There was also the joy of being honored by the Tongues of legend, of holding Lucia in her arms or carrying her on her back as they played in the fields outside of Evermore, and the strength that too often Eirik sought in her counsel when he lacked it himself.

Eirik shook his head. This could not happen, not again. He was the Dragonborn of legend, he had the power of the gods. He wouldn't hesitate, not this time. He knew what he had to do to save her, what he _had_ to do.

"_Ofa_..." he muttered. But all that came from his mouth was blood, spattering onto Lydia's face. He could not speak, his breath came in ragged gasps and he could not even Shout: the only thing he could have used to heal her wound and it lay just beyond his grasp. Hot tears streamed down his face as he reached up to Lydia's face with his hand to wipe away the blood. Had Lydia given all of herself for him only for him to impotently spit blood in her face?

As he touched her face, he felt that it was cold to the touch, yet still as soft as that night in the woods. Her blue eyes were still gazing up at him, but now they were empty. Wordlessly he begged the Divines, even the daedric princes of Oblivion, to bring her back. For a moment he seemed paralyzed by sorrow, weeping into Lydia's chest with no thought of the battle around him.

Then suddenly there was another explosion from Auriel's Bow, and it all came back to him. Like a wave of fire it swept over him, filling every inch of his body with flaming rage. His eyes turned towards the doors of Castle Dour; blind to all else around him. Every breath ached as he charged towards the doors of the castle, but it didn't matter: he let the pain feed his anger. A Thalmor justicar appeared before him. He kicked the elf down with one foot, then leaped upon him, crushing the elf's face in with his fists. As two elves ran to defend their leader, Eirik jabbed one so hard with his gauntlet, the dragon-bone pierced the armor and embedded into the elf's flesh. Turning to the other one, Eirik seized her by the head and smashed her face into the stone wall to his left. He turned with fury in his eyes towards five elves standing before the stone stair-case leading up to the doors of the castle. Whimpering and begging for mercy, they threw down their weapons, fell to their knees and held up their hands. Without another thought, he leaped at the middle one fist first, sending him crashing down onto the stairs. He swung his hand back to strike the others, then felt that he still had a weapon. Drawing forth the great-sword of the Skaal, he ran one elf through, hacked off the head of another and split another down the center. The last two began running towards the castle in fear: Eirik threw the sword towards one, catching him in the back and sending him down dead and tripping the second one. Walking towards the last elf, he stomped the elf's ugly face in until there was nothing but a bloody mess like those who had fallen in the streets. Once he was sure there was nothing else standing before him and the castle, he drew the great-sword of the Skaal out of the back of the elf soldier and walked towards the castle doors, kicking them down before entering, sword in hand.

* * *

><p>All was dark inside Castle Dour. The only light streamed in from the narrow windows in the side of the great stone keep. Even so, there seemed to be another kind of darkness, one that lingered on in the depths of the hallway. Eirik's footsteps echoed as he walked slowly forward, hearing no other sound besides himself. Finally he heard a laugh, cold, hard and haughty, echoing from somewhere before and beyond.<p>

"Hello again, Eirik Bjornsson," the elvish voice greeted. "It's been a long time since I had you in the dungeons. How you keep getting out I'll never know."

Eirik tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse and he could not force himself to make the words. Once more he heard the laugh echoing throughout the keep.

"Doubtless your tiny human mind is struggling to remember when we last met," said the voice in retort to Eirik's unspoken thought. "It was last year, when you passed through Haafingar. We captured you and your fat Nordic b*tch, but you both escaped at the last minute." Eirik could feel anger rising up to throttle him out upon hearing the voice taunting him and Mjoll.

"What?" the elf asked. "Did you really think that I cared about laying your fat, ugly woman? Don't be so crude; your women are like orcs - fat, ugly and entirely too violent. No, I wanted to break your spirit. And now I see that I have. Your little housecarl did what all the threats and tortures could not do. Now I have you exactly where I want you."

The voice laughed again. "After our first little encounter, I wanted to learn everything about you. Then after the fiasco of Northwatch Keep, I decided that I should keep a closer eye on you. And that did not disappoint: you've proven to be a valuable asset to the Aldmeri Dominion. You've done in less than six months what the White-Gold Concordant could not effectively do in twenty years."

"No..." Eirik finally managed to get out of his lips, his voice hoarse and croaking. This only elicited more laughter from his unseen foe.

"Did you foolishly believe you were _fighting_ me with your allegiance to Ulfric Stormcloak? We were enemies, but, like you, he served his purpose, until those pesky little Dunmer interfered. Now we have you..." He laughed again. "And _you_ will serve quite nicely as Ulfric's successor."

"No," Eirik forced out again.

"Foolish human, when will you get it through your thick skull? The war is over, we've already won."

"Out...there..." Eirik forced out again, pointing back towards him.

"What? Your little band of renegades?" the elf taunted. "You think that winning one battle will make a difference? That it will make your little homeland safe?" He laughed. "That's what Titus Mede believed when he signed the White-Gold Concordant: it was an illusion, a comforting lie told to protect him and his frail people. The truth is that the war was never over: it was merely postponed. No matter the outcome of this battle, the war will go on. The Aldmeri Dominion _will_ triumph..._I_ will triumph."

"Fuck...you..." Eirik groaned.

The elf laughed again. "You do need to learn to respect your betters, slave. No matter, you will learn soon enough. Mighty Auri-El has given me the weapon he gave _my_ people eons ago, when the Trickster Lorkhan created your mongrel race; the weapon he made to eradicate your kind from the world."

From out of the darkness, Eirik saw the Bow of Auriel drawn forth, an arrow placed into the string and pulled back. Though the great white bow shone like the sun, it gave off no light onto the bearer, save for the gleam of his squint yellow eyes. The elf drew back the bowstring and then, to his surprise and to Eirik's surprise, the bow merely vanished. One moment it was there and the next it faded like mist before the coming of the sun.

"No!" the elf roared. "Damn the gods for this treachery! I am Thelgil, you are my ancestors! How _dare_ you do this to _me!_"

Eirik managed a coughing laugh, yet that was more than enough to keep the words back in his throat and off his tongue once again. Suddenly there was a flash and a fire-ball ignited a brazier, sending the room into a dim, reddish glow. Before him, Eirik saw the tall form of the Altmer known as Thelgil, high justicar and lord commander of the Aldmeri Dominion. Aside from his black robes, he was wearing something that glistened in the light of the brazier.

"Ancarion's death was merely a set-back," Thelgil said. "For you see, maggot, you and your pathetic comrade did not stop our operation. I still acquired what was sought after: stalhrim."

Eirik did not wait for Thelgil to strike him, he struck first. Swinging the great-sword wide, he aimed to take off the elf's tall head with one blow, but a clank like striking stone was heard: Thelgil bore a shield in one hand, which blocked the blow. But Eirik knew that he was still physically stronger than this frail-bodied elf, no matter what armor he wore. With a roar, he swung again, striking the stalhrim shield once again. A third time he struck and a fourth, but the elf was quick and held his shield in the way each time.

"Is that all you have, mongrel?" Thelgil laughed. "Too bad, I was almost hoping you would be a challenge."

Eirik then realized why Thelgil had no weapon in his right hand. Out the hand went and Eirik was suddenly pushed back, his whole body twitching as bolts of lightning arced through his sword and delivered pain to every inch of his body. Once again he heard the haughty laughter of Thelgil ringing in his ears as his body continued to convulse.

"All of that strength," he mocked. "And yet so easily subdued."

"S-Stop...talking!" Eirik groaned, finally forcing two words from his hoarse, aching throat.

"You have no rights here, _human_," retorted Thelgil. "I am your master and I will speak if I desire it, and you know your place, cur!"

Another wave of lightning swept over Eirik's body, wrenching a scream from his tortured throat. He was writhing on the floor, feeling blood in his mouth and the cold floor around him. His sword had fallen out of his hands: there seemed to be no escape. He knew that he could not shout again or else he would destroy his throat and never be able to speak or shout again, if he survived at all. The lightning illuminated the tall form of Thelgil, who loomed now over him, his yellow eyes glaring down with certainty upon his prey. It seemed more hopeless now than in any battle he had yet faced.

Eirik felt his senses start to go numb and the light was fading. Before his eyes he saw Mjoll smiling at him, one hand resting upon her large stomach and the other holding Lucia's hand, who stood at her side. Then he saw the twenty-one faces of the Sons of Skyrim, including old Galmar Stone-Fist, then he saw Lydia, Ulfric, Arvid, old Bjorn Thoreson, his father who awaited him in Sovngarde, and his flaxen-haired mother Signy, her eyes blue like Lake Ilinalta under a summer's sun; the same shade of blue as Lydia's eyes.

_Give me strength_, he prayed wordlessly. _If I fail here, it's all been for nothing_

At last Eirik could feel the lightning no more, but his eyesight was growing clearer and clearer. With a loud cry, he pushed himself up off the floor and charged Thelgil, throwing him off his feet and knocking him onto the ground. The lightning ceased and Eirik could feel his aching body, burning from where the lightning bolts had struck and burned him. But he was oblivious to it all, looking now for his sword as Thelgil hurried for his shield which he had dropped when thrown back.

"Do you think this means anything?" he taunted. "Whether I live or die is meaningless, you've already lost. You ignorant mongrels should know when you're conquered!"

"Never!" Eirik retorted.

Eirik seized the great-sword of the Skaal and charged at Thelgil, swinging his sword hither and yon. The stalhrim shield blocked every body, but Thelgil was not perturbed. Conjuring a sword from Aetherius, he began trading blows with Eirik, who had only his dragon-bone armor and his sword to fend them off.

"Pray, weakling!" Thelgil taunted. "For all the good that will do you. The Eight were never on your side!"

"No!" Eirik growled, swinging another blow that was deflected off the shield.

"And why should they heed _your_ prayers, savage?" asked Thelgil. "Your mongrel race has worshiped dragons, daedra and the wind long before your kind _stole_ the Eight from _my_ people! You are a heathen, they will not heed your prayers."

"The past..." Eirik strained. "Is the past."

"And the future belongs to mer-kind!" Thelgil retorted.

Eirik struck again, unperturbed by Thelgil's taunts. He had had a long time to consider his words, from the mouth of Servius Crixus to the summit of Apocrypha and now to Castle Dour. He had been constantly reminded of his peoples' failings, of how they had failed to measure up to elven or Imperial standards of goodness and morality time and time again. It mattered not to him, nor would it ever matter again. The past was the past and it could not be changed. All Eirik could do, all any human could do, was make the best of the present. Galmar and Lydia gave their lives for him: to give up now would be a greater dishonor to their sacrifice than a little blood splattered upon their faces.

Again Eirik swung the great-sword, striking the shield with no effect. He swung again, putting all of his strength behind the blow. Thelgil's shield was pushed back, but he recovered from the blow, holding the shield back up. Eirik noticed that he did not recover as quickly now as he had before.

"Do what your kind do best, mongrel," Thelgil taunted. "Unleash your brute strength, but it will make no difference! Skyrim belongs to the Aldmeri Dominion!

"No!" Eirik rasped, as he swung again.

"It has always belonged to the elves! You savages stole it from its rightful owners, and soon, we shall reclaim what is rightfully ours!"

Once more Eirik swung and saw Thelgil's stalhrim shield raise up even slower than before. A life spent in the ivory towers on the Summerset Isles were no avail against one born in the woods of Falkreath, trained for twelve years with an axe against the trees. Thelgil did not have the stamina to stand toe to toe with Eirik, not without his magicks. Again Eirik swung, knocking back Thelgil's shield: for a brief moment he saw that, beneath his stalhrim breast-plate and fauld, there was a small place covered by nothing more than his black robes.

"Foolish worm! Can you not see? Elvish supremacy is the _only_ truth! We are the future of your pathetic country! Skyrim belongs to the Thalmor, to the Dominion, to _me!_"

Like a storm, hurled by the North wind, Eirik struck three times with the great-sword of the Skaal. Thelgil was growing weaker and Eirik could see his opening. With a mighty fourth blow, he knocked back the elf's shield, then thrust the blade through the one hole in his armor. Thelgil's thin, squinting eyes widened in shock at the Nord's blow. Rage still fueling his body, Eirik lifted Thelgil off the ground.

"Skyrim..." Eirik rasped, his voice coming back. "...for the Nords, b*tch."

In one swift motion, he drew the sword out of Thelgil's abdomen, sending the elf down onto his knees. Following up the blow, he hacked off the elf's head with one clean swipe. Thelgil's body fell lifelessly onto the floor before him as Eirik cleaned off his blade. He sighed, then wiped the elf's blood off his face and collapsed onto the floor, the pain of the elf's assault finally getting to him.

It was not over, Eirik knew. It would never be over.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I bet you're all thinking that George R.R. Martin has hacked my <em>fan-fiction<em> account for the last two chapters, but I assure you that it is still me. This chapter was how i foresaw Eirik's part in this story concluding from last year, while i was writing those over-the-top arguments with Crixus. He finally is reconciled with his past, but at what cost?)**

**(_Dany le fou_, who has stopped reviewing [miss your reviews, dude] once said that he wondered if a happy ending were possible. Well, i still don't know if that's the case. I had to kill off Lydia [she died in my first play-through, the one that was the foundation for _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_ - well she disappeared after I married Mjoll and was never seen again, not even in the Halls of the Dead], and, unlike my other fics where someone dies, she will stay dead. I also wanted to do something kind of similar to my fic _Witch's Soul_, where a beloved character dies ungracefully: the only difference is that Lydia isn't cursing Eirik into the grave, her eyes say everything.)**

**(Like all my stories, this chapter was fueled by music: everything from _Heaven and Hell_, _Megadeth_, Charlotte Church, the _Shadows of the Colossus_ soundtrack, whatever it took to get this written. As for our villain, i tried to give him a little bit more development, but i don't know. He did, of course, get the stalhrim armor from Solstheim, that little bit from _Dragonborn_ had its eventual payoff. His armor is sort of a cross between light stalhrim armor and the regular Thalmor robes. And yes, i had everyone's favorite Sherlock Holmes in mind when i designed this character: he screams of racist Altmer!)**


	55. The Dragonborn Emperor

**(AN: Lol, I thought my little "It was not over, it would never be over" was an indication that the last chapter was NOT the end. I've been leaving hints about closing this story off at 56 chapters, since it would be half that of _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_. And, of course, since we had a prologue, we need an epilogue [finally found a good place to put the Reunification sub-plot culmination]. So yes, we're not yet done)**

**(Ugh, watching vampire movies [good/mediocre ones, not _Twilight_] makes me want to talk about Serana and Babette in the Dark Brotherhood for another spin-off story. But i'm still on the fence about that one, as far as themes and direction go. I also wanted to mention in the last chapter why Eirik suddenly lost his voice and was spewing blood when he tried to Shout again. It wasn't so much the Divines leveling the playing field, but that the Thu'um is, after all, the Dragon Tongue. It takes years and years of discipline for the Greybeards to do what they can do, but for someone like Eirik, though Dragonborn, he is still mortal. Spamming Dragon Shouts isn't an option since it would do permanent physical damage to his throat and vocal chords. That's my "in lore" reason why it doesn't work.)**

* * *

><p><strong>The Dragonborn Emperor<strong>

When Eirik awoke, he saw Ralof looking down at him. He wondered for a moment if it had all been a dream, but that quickly faded. They were on a cart, indeed, but they were now halted and there were no tall pines around them. In fact, he could hear the warbling of the swamp creatures. He groaned; just as bad as Helgen, if not worse, they were back in Hjaalmarch.

"There you are!" Ralof greeted. "I was a-feared something had happened to you."

"What happened?" Eirik groaned.

"We won," Ralof stated proudly. "The Dominion garrison in Solitude has been defeated."

"I..." Eirik gasped. "I don't remember it. Tell me what happened."

"Oh, it was a bloody battle," Ralof replied. "I daresay, every one of the Sons of Skyrim have made a name for themselves after this one. There was intense fighting through the streets of Solitude: the elves refused to surrender, though we had pushed them out of Castle Dour. Finally they threw down their arms and surrendered. We all laughed at their cowardice, but then that dog Crixus told us why: the Imperial fleet was anchored in the bay."

_So they arrived,_ Eirik mused.

"So why are we here?" he asked at last.

"That dog Crixus sent you away for a while," Ralof replied. "He said that there was something you needed."

"What is that?"

"We'll have to walk the rest of the way to see that," Ralof retorted. "Come on, or we'll be benighted before we reach the camp!"

"Alright, alright," Eirik groaned as he pushed himself up out of the cart. As he was rising, he saw, lying upon the floor of the cart, something wrapped in a crimson cloth and bound with golden cord: tucked safely into that cord was a note which bore this cryptic message

_Try not to drop this._

_-S.C_

Underneath the cloth, Eirik saw, cleaned from his furious battle, the bearded head of Wuuthrad.

* * *

><p>As Ralof led Eirik through the swamps, he tried to piece together his memories. He remembered walking under the stifling heat of the shields on his way up to the gates of Solitude, but then the horrible images returned as well: dead bodies littering the streets of Solitude like leaves in a forest, ashen bonfire pits filled with small skulls, Lydia dying in his arms, Thelgil's thin, gaunt face taunting him through the shadows. Then he recalled the lightning and a high-domed Altmer head, permanently fixated in an expression of disbelief, falling to the ground. Whatever had happened next was anyone's guess, including his own. Ralof didn't know, for he had been sent to the battle before the Blue Palace.<p>

After an hour of walking through the marshes, Ralof and Eirik arrived in the old siege camp, where they had spent many long days in the squelching mud and watery fens of Hjaalmarch. Straightway his eyes sought out the carriage, which had not been moved from its original position. Sitting out in front of the carriage was old Perla One-Eye, the only Firstborn who had not fought in the Siege of Solitude. As Eirik approached the carriage, she rose up to greet him.

"There you are!" she returned. "I've been wondering if you would show up. That Imperial Commander said that the battle was won, but there hasn't been any word from you in five days."

"Yes, the siege is won," Eirik nodded. "But what has happened here? Where are..."

"I don't know," Perla returned. "Whether to wish you well or drink to you or slap the shit out of you."

"What?"

"You should have been here."

"I was busy winning the war," Eirik replied. "And what do you mean..."

"It's Mjoll," Perla replied.

"Has something happened?" Eirik asked, his heart sinking. Had he won victory at great loss only to find that greater loss awaited him now?

"I've never seen such a strong woman," Perla began. "I mean, I had three children and each time it felt like an axe-blade pulling my..." Eirik cleared his throat. "She never made a sound until the very last moment. There wasn't even that much blood."

"And the baby?"

"See for yourself," Perla rose up and opened the door of the carriage. Eirik climbed inside and saw Lucia lying asleep on one side of the carriage. Pulling apart the curtain that had been set up, he saw Mjoll lying at the far end of the carriage room, cradling in her arms a wee little baby with tiny strands of dark hair upon an otherwise bald head. As Eirik knelt besides Mjoll, she opened her eyes and smiled.

"Is it done?" she asked.

Eirik nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"Oh, don't mind Perla," Mjoll shook her head. "She kept insisting that you should be here. I didn't mind: we both had our battles to win. You've given us a world to live in peace..." She held up the baby. "...and in return, I give you your firstborn daughter."

"It's a girl?"

"That's usually what daughter means," Mjoll chuckled. "Did you doubt my word? A mother knows what child it is that moves within her womb, and so it was with me."

Eirik reached down and caressed the baby's forehead, softer than any silk he had ever felt. The eyes were closed, and the tiny squished face, though it would seem ugly to some, held a measure of innocence in it. Eirik could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he thought of the small skulls in the ash-piles in Solitude.

"What's wrong?" Mjoll asked.

"It's nothing," Eirik sighed, wiping the tears out of his eyes.

"You don't have to hide it from me," Mjoll replied.

Eirik sighed. "The things I saw up there. Things...no one should ever have to see. Maybe soon I will tell you, but not now. Now..." He looked back down at the little girl in Mjoll's arms. "...now, I want to enjoy this moment with you and with our child."

"She still needs a name," Mjoll returned.

"Lydia," Eirik said, looking at the little dark strands of hair.

"Won't that get confusing, what with your huscarl?" Mjoll asked, giggling slightly.

"She's dead," Eirik replied grimly. "She fell in battle during the siege. I want to honor her."

Even as he said those words, Eirik regretted them. He knew that there had been some quiet animosity between Mjoll and Lydia, and more-so since Lydia had known him before he knew Mjoll - though whether Mjoll knew this or not, Eirik did not know. Furthermore, mentioning Lydia's name again brought back her dead form to mind and how he had failed to save her.

"If that's what you want," Mjoll returned.

"No," Eirik interjected. "Please, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"What's wrong?"

Eirik closed his eyes. "She saved my life. Lydia saved my life and that's what killed her. I tried to save her, but I couldn't."

"I'm sorry," Mjoll replied, placing her other hand on Eirik's cheek. "I know what it's like to lose one close to me. If it's all the same, we don't have to call her Lydia."

Eirik nodded wordlessly. "What would you like to call her?"

"I don't know," Mjoll returned. "Something strong. The name of a warrior."

"What about Mathilde after the shield-maiden from the lay of Ragnar the Red?"

Mjoll laughed and shook her head. "I want our daughter to have her own stories. We'll give her her own name."

"A name should mean something," Eirik added. "Something not so narrow or exclusive. My name means 'eternal king', which is ironic because that is what I never want to be. We should give her a name that will always be appropriate."

"My name means 'crusher'," Mjoll giggled. "Appropriate for how strong my parents said I was when I was young."

"Wait a minute," Eirik interjected. "Let's name her after your mother."

"She doesn't look like a Halgerdr," Mjoll replied. "What about your mother?"

"Signy?" Eirik asked. "Maybe."

"Wait," Mjoll said, a smile appearing on her face. "I have it!"

"What?"

"Sigrun," she returned.

"Yes," Eirik nodded. "It means 'victory', which is what we have this day...and every day after this." Though he doubted if Mjoll knew about his defeat, it warmed his heart that she had suggested this name.

"Sigrun Eiriksdottir," Mjoll said, looking down at the baby in her arms. Just then, little Sigrun opened her wee little mouth in a toothless yawn.

Eirik chuckled. "She's tired of hearing us talking."

"Aww," Mjoll pouted. "But I do enjoy it when we talk. We haven't had the chance to do so lately."

Eirik nodded, but did not respond. He leaned down and kissed baby Sigrun's forehead, then climbed up onto the bench where Mjoll lay. He was still aching from his battle and wanted to rest. It would be the first time in a many long count of months where he would sleep without fear of what might happen. Resting his head against Mjoll's shoulder, he finally drifted into deep slumber.

* * *

><p>While Mjoll and Sigrun slept soundly, without a single care in the world, Eirik's sleep was plagued with nightmares. He found himself back in the streets of Solitude, seeing Mjoll's body among the slain, with her stomach cut open. He closed his eyes and planted himself where he stood, but he found that his eyes would not respond to his commands and that he was being drawn towards the pile of ash and tiny skulls. Then he saw Lydia fall again before his eyes, and Thelgil, risen from the dead, coming after him with lightning sprouting from his finger-tips. Yet this time Eirik's will broke and he did not rise.<p>

With a sudden lurch, he rose up from his disturbed slumber in a cold sweat. Looking around, he saw Mjoll and Sigrun sleeping peacefully besides him, alive and well. He thanked the Divines that they were alive and that all he had seen had only been a dream. He then readied himself to go back to sleep when there was a knock at the door of the carriage. Quietly he removed himself from the seat and walked over to the door and opened it: there waiting for him in the darkness, with a torch in his hand, was Torgrim.

"Crixus wants you up at Solitude now," Torgrim said. "We're to leave right away."

"Can't it wait?" Eirik asked. "I just got here and my wife's given birth to our firstborn!"

To Eirik's surprise, Torgrim's countenance fell. "Gods be praised. But Crixus was insistent: your presence is required at Solitude."

"You were there with us," Eirik retorted. "You saw what was there. Do you want to go back to that?"

"No!" Torgrim snapped. "But I'm following my orders, and I suggest you do the same."

Eirik sighed, shaking his head, but finally relented. Without giving him time to gird him his gear, Torgrim took Eirik to his horse and took off into the night. They rode on the rest of that night and by dawn they had arrived at the edge of the swamps. The rest of the day was then spent going thither to Dragon Bridge and then up the great cliffs.

* * *

><p>When they arrived at Solitude, it was late in the evening. The sun was barely visible in the west towards High Rock, but there was still enough light on the city itself for Eirik to see. The first thing he noticed were the walls: the bodies of the dead were gone. There were also no dead bodies before the gates either. As they reached the gatehouse, Eirik saw the red banners of Solitude hanging from the gate and Imperial patrols upon the walls. Under the gate they went and came at last to the city square, where the bodies of the dead were being piled <em>en masse<em> in great heaps by the Imperial soldiers. Some of the buildings were also being repaired and Eirik saw those few who had survived the Thalmor's purges helping the soldiers with the repairs.

Torgrim turned his horse southward, towards the eastern-most quarter of the city, where many of the more noble houses stood as well as the Bard's College and the Blue Palace. Here the bodies were still being piled up, but many were still lying in the streets. On the back of the horse, Eirik heard Torgrim retch as though he would vomit upon seeing the great number of dead. He did not begrudge him this nor did he ridicule him for being weak-stomached.

They finally arrived before the doors of the Blue Palace. There he saw Crixus standing with Governor Rikke, Esbern and Jarl Elisif. Before them were several Thalmor officers with their hands in chains, being led around the fields of corpses about the entrance of the Blue Palace. As Torgrim dismounted and Eirik with him, they saw that Crixus was insistent to the guards who led the Thalmor that the prisoners see everything.

"I've brought the Dragonborn, sir," Torgrim stated.

Crixus seemed preoccupied as he was gazing at the bodies and, to Eirik's horror, another pile of tiny skulls blackened and covered in ash. When Crixus finally acknowledged that Eirik had arrived, he gestured for Eirik to stand with him and Governor Rikke. The young Nord looked disapprovingly at Eirik, though Eirik was watching the elves Crixus had apparently let live.

"What precisely are we supposed to be looking at?" one of them asked.

Crixus did not even speak. He walked over to the elf, head and shoulders above him, and punched him in the balls. The tall elf collapsed before Crixus' feet, whimpering and clutching his family jewels in agony.

"Wrong answer!" Crixus finally shouted.

"I see _nothing_ here," another elf stated.

Crixus slowly walked over to the elf, punched him in the gut, and then, taking a wad of his silvery-white hair in his fist, dragged the elf over to where the bodies lay.

"What's that then, smart arse?" he retorted. "Do you see that? What about those ashes?" He turned the elf towards the ash-covered pile of skulls. "Do you see that? Your friends told me you heated your fires during the siege with them. I know you see them."

"They lied, _human_," the Thalmor sneered in defiant retort. "There is nothing there."

In one swift move, Crixus buried a knife in the elf's side, then tore it out and left him there to clutch at his side as he turned to the men.

"They haven't seen enough," he said. "I want you to take them up and down the streets. No one is to burn any bodies or bury any bones or ashes until all of these yellow motherfuckers see what they've done!"

"Crixus..."

"What?"

"Why am I here?" Eirik asked.

"They killed _your_ people," Crixus said. "You should have a say in their judgment, since you've named yourself the protector of the people of Skyrim. Isn't that what your so-called 'Sons of Skyrim' are all about?"

"Kill them all," Eirik retorted. "Every last one of them."

"Typical Nord response," Rikke stated. "Sir, we should seek for a more sensible approach. Something more diplomatic that would show the Dominion that we..."

Eirik punched Rikke in the face while she was yet speaking.

"Diplomacy be damned!" he retorted. "Sensibility be damned! These yellow-skinned bastards killed women and children, and this is how they respond?"

"Their soldiers told me what happened," Crixus stated. "The officers deny everything they've said."

"They deserve to die," Eirik retorted. "Officers and those under their command."

"Eirik..."

"We need to show the Dominion that we're not to be fucked with," Eirik retorted. "Whether you want to be Emperor or not, you need to show them that they can't walk over you."

"Even your Tiber Septim made treaties," Crixus replied.

"Then don't do as he did," Eirik shot back. "Since you're so keen to avoid him like the plague."

Crixus leaned in and, in a hushed tone, asked Eirik: "How can I escape the Septim dynasty if it's in my fucking blood?"

"I thought you didn't believe that," Eirik replied, one eyebrow cocking upward on his forehead.

"I don't know what the fuck to believe," Crixus retorted. "Lethia's prophecy became true, and I've done what nobody could ever do since Reman Cyrodiil..." He sighed. "...and Tiber Septim."

"Then do what needs to be done!"

Crixus nodded, then leaned in, whispering into his ear. "Follow me." Crixus then turned to Rikke, who was wiping blood off of her nose. "Kill everyone who denies what they see."

Esbern, Elisif, Eirik and Torgrim followed Crixus up into the Blue Palace. As they were making their way inside, Eirik asked Crixus what had been pestering his mind since he stepped into the gates of Solitude.

"How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many are dead?"

"About five hundred of our men," Crixus stated.

"I mean of the people of Solitude!"

Crixus hung his head, rubbing his hands upon his eyes for a while before finally responding. "We're not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

"Thelgil said he'd kill one person every ten minutes," Crixus began. "That was on the tenth of this month, about eight days ago. By my calculations, no fewer than a thousand people died in just the last week of our siege. What's worse is that they've had the city of Solitude since the first day of Midyear, so who really knows how many dead there are. And they left the bodies out in the streets, so half of the town is sick with fever and might not survive. I'm having my healers tend to them, but that's also why I've ordered the bodies to be piled up: we're to burn them."

"I thought you abhorred Nord traditions," Eirik retorted.

"I do," Crixus returned. "But there will be no end of sickness if we let them rot and there aren't enough crypts in Solitude's Hall of the Dead to accommodate everyone."

"I only care about two people," Eirik said. "Galmar and Lydia. Where are they?"

"I've kept their bodies with those of our men," Crixus replied. "They're in the courtyard of Castle Dour. After we're done..."

"I want to see them first!" Eirik retorted.

"As you wish," Crixus groaned. "Just don't take too damn long."

* * *

><p>Eirik made his way from the doors of the Blue Palace straight down the high street towards the second entrance to the courtyard of Castle Dour. As he passed inside, he saw an elderly Nord walking among the dead bodies, holding one hand over the body and another with palm upward in supplication to the Divines. As Eirik passed him by, he heard words that conjured up in his mind visions from Helgen.<p>

"As we commend thy soul to Aetherius," the old Nord said. "Blessings of the Eight and One Divines upon thee, for thou art the salt of Nirn, our beloved home. Eternal rest grant upon this soul, O Arkay, and let thy light shine upon his face. May he rest in peace."

Turning away from the old man, Eirik gazed upon the bodies. There were Bretons and Imperials and many Nords - for this was still Skyrim and Nords made up the majority of the Imperial garrisons in Skyrim - and here and there he saw the simple gear of the Sons of Skyrim, those whom he had lead into battle and to their deaths. Those who died during the third assault on the gates were already bound, with an emerald cloth draped upon their body. Looking up, Eirik saw the entrance to the keep of Castle Dour: hanging over the door was Thelgil's head.

It was with surprise that Eirik saw Rikke hobbling up the causeway leading to the entrance of the keep. Carefully he picked his way through the bodies, coming up behind her and walking up the causeway to the keep's door. There he saw her leaning over a body draped in a wide green cloth, more like a blanket. The Nord woman then rose to her feet and looked eastward, giving Eirik the chance to move over to the door without being seen as she turned around and hobbled back down the causeway.

Here Eirik also knelt, examining what had brought Rikke here. There were two bodies lying under a great green cloth which, as Eirik saw it now, was more of a banner than a blanket. It was made of green cloth with a raven sewn in white onto the fabric. Upon further inspection, Eirik saw that the raven's sewn form was cleverly constructed of runes sewn into the cloth in white thread, ancient Nordic runes, with each name of the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim written thereupon in the runes, starting with Angrim and ending with Yrsarald.

With trembling hand Eirik lifted the banner off of the form nearest to the keep's door and to himself. He saw Lydia lying there, her face cold and pale like death but cleaned of all the blood. Her eyes were closed and, if he knew not, he would have thought that she was merely sleeping. Lifting the banner off her body a little more, Eirik saw that she was still clothed in the steel armor she wore when they first met, what she wore when they fought Alduin and what she was wearing when she died. Upon her breast lay her sword, parallel to her lying form. Beneath her was the shield she had sworn into Eirik's service almost a year ago.

"Farewell, Lydia," Eirik said to his fallen huscarl. "My huscarl...and...my friend."

The banner was now removed enough that Eirik could see another form that shocked him. The body wore the fur and leather of a bear-friend, and the hair was the same dark-gray as he had remembered it, but the face was not the face of Galmar Stone-Fist. The eyes were sunken in, the skin was sagging around the temples and flies were buzzing about his mouth. Eirik swatted them away as he looked at his marshal. He had been dead longer than Lydia and, Eirik assumed, little was done to preserve his body the way Lydia's had been.

"Goodbye, old man," Eirik said to Galmar. "I'll never forget what you taught me."

As he reached for the banner to roll it back over their bodies, he saw something lying on Galmar's chest. There was, of course, the haft of his battle-axe, but on top of the haft was something else: the hammer-shaped form of an amulet of Talos. Eirik wondered why there would be two amulets of Talos on Galmar, for one was still tied about his neck, which Eirik recognized from the very first moment he met him. Then he remembered what he saw but a few moments ago and that he had also seen Rikke sometimes grip something close to her neck betimes. It seemed implausible to his mind, that one who so loved the Empire and all of its beliefs would secretly worship the Ninth Divine, the one outlawed by the Empire's White-Gold Concordant, and yet _someone_ had put an amulet of Talos on Galmar's body and it wasn't him.

* * *

><p>When Eirik finally reached the Blue Palace again, evening was falling about the city of Solitude. It was the first time he visited the Blue Palace. It bore a great resemblance to the ancient architecture of Castle Volkihar, what with its over-hung halls lined with pillars with arches connecting them in between. There was also Third Era Colovian influence, in that it was built like one of the great castles of Cyrodiil from that time. There was no austere stone-work like the Palace of the Kings or carvings of the great names of Nordic legends. Whereas the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm evoked in Eirik a sense of the grandeur and magnitude of the ancient Atmorans - not for naught was it called the City of Ysgramor - the Blue Palace was relatively modern and it brought to his mind the high courts of the gentry of Cyrodiil, where Crixus must have learned all he knew. Looking down at himself, clad in rough brown leather breeches and a faded green shirt, he seemed very rural compared to the palace before him.<p>

Passing inside, he heard voices echoing from above a grand staircase of white marble. Walking up there he saw a throne room smaller than the grandiose stone hall of the Palace of the Kings. While it was smaller, it was very bright and seemed no less regal than the high-vaulted halls of Windhelm or Whiterun. At the back of the room, upon a two-tiered rounded dais facing the staircase, was a high-backed chair with red cushions upon it. This was the throne of Solitude and upon that throne sat the petite form of Elisif the Fair, Jarl of Solitude. She still had that wide-eyed look of being overwhelmed that he saw in her when first he met her at High Hrothgar during the peace summit. Now there was sadness in her big blue eyes, sadness over her city being blooded and her people being slaughtered. To the right of her throne, from where Eirik stood, upon the second tier, was a smaller chair in which sat Crixus, still dressed in his Imperial legate armor. On the other side of the room stood Torgrim and, beside him, Esbern sat in a small chair as well.

The moment Elisif laid eyes upon Eirik, her eyes changed from overwhelmed and sorrowful to filled with anger.

"Why do you bring this traitor before me?" she asked, rising from her throne in protest. "He's as bad as those elves who killed my people! How could you bring him here, my Servius?"

"_Her_ Servius?" Eirik asked.

"Shut up, Eirik!" Crixus spat at Eirik, then turned to Elisif. "My lady, the Dragonborn is here under my invitation."

"But he is a traitor!" Elisif repeated.

"It is true," Crixus said. "He sided against the Empire, and against you, and joined himself to Ulfric Stormcloak's little rebellion. But now the rebellion is over..."

"And he started one of his own!" Elisif retorted. "I know all about the Sons of Skyrim, how they drove the Black-Briar family out of Riften like cattle, or how they beat Siddgeir until he surrendered Falkreath in tears and pleas!"

"That last one wasn't true," Eirik pointed out.

"Silence!" Elisif shouted.

"Were it not for them, for _him_," Crixus said. "We would still be fighting to take back this city. Also, this is the man who killed Thelgil. You owe him for the salvation of Solitude as much as you owe me."

"I pray the gods not that much," Elisif stated as she returned to her seat.

"Why am I here?" Eirik asked.

"I would like to know that as well, Servius," Elisif added, turning to Crixus.

"How come she gets to call you by your given name," Eirik asked. "But everyone else must call you by your surname?"

"Because she's the High Queen of Skyrim!" Crixus retorted. "She can call me whatever she wishes."

"High Queen?" Eirik asked. "Oh yes, I remember. The false moot, it was already decided. Your Empire has won, so they place the puppet on our throne."

"Watch your tongue!" Elisif retorted, rising up once again. "I am _no_ man's puppet!"

"My lady, please sit down," Crixus said, to which Elisif promptly sat down. Eirik held up his hand to hide a snicker that escaped his lips. Clearing his throat, Crixus then began. "We're here to decide what to do with what's left of the Thalmor hierarchy in Skyrim."

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"Once the fleet arrived," Crixus stated. "I had Petruvius send a cohort to the Thalmor Embassy. I think we both know where that is." He winked at Eirik, then continued. "It seems there was more than one rat left in Haafingar, and we've brought the last one here." He turned to Elisif. "By your leave, of course."

"Bring her before me," Elisif commanded.

Momentarily, Eirik saw Delphine and Ragni carry none other than Elenwen, the former Thalmor Ambassador, in chains before the seat of the Jarl of Solitude. Eirik stepped back as the two Blades placed Elenwen before the Jarl of Solitude. Delphine presently approached Elenwen, her long-sword in her hand.

"Kneel," she said.

"Don't you have some drunken Nords to tend to in that inn of yours?" Elenwen retorted haughtily.

"Insolent little b*tch!" Delphine retorted, raising her gloved hand back as though she would strike Elenwen.

"No!" Esbern interjected. "Delphine, stay your blade."

"But she..."

"She will answer for her crimes here and now," Esbern said. "The time for fighting is done...for now."

Delphine put away her sword, but kept spiteful eyes glared upon Elenwen, who stood before the Jarl as though she were a queen, brought to trial by lords who fancied themselves her equals.

"Elenwen, _former_ ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion and agent of the Thalmor ruling class," Elisif began. "You have been accused of conspiracy against the Empire and the Throne of Skyrim by the use of your agents to harass and terrorize my people. You have also been accused of sending a Thalmor agent to the city of Winterhold, which recently suffered grievous damage under mysterious circumstances. Lastly, you are accused of knowingly aiding High Justicar Thelgil in the slaughter of nearly five thousand citizens of Solitude. How do you answer?"

Elenwen laughed a throaty, mocking laugh, with a smile upon her face. "I do not recognize any of these charges. Everything I have done has been to uphold the White-Gold Concordant in this province, doing no more or less. Thelgil acted alone and was not party to the Aldmeri Dominion. But what makes me laugh so is that you say that he slaughtered five thousand citizens of Solitude: there are not even that many people in all of Skyrim!"

"Delphine?" Esbern spoke.

"Yes, sir?"

"_Now_ you may strike her."

Delphine punched Elenwen across the jaw, then drew out her long-sword and placed it to Elenwen's long, golden neck.

"Why should I recognize any of these trumped charges," Elenwen asked. "Brought before me by the so-called justice of these victorious war-mongers before me? You say that I have conspired against the Throne of Skyrim and the Empire..." She laughed again. "There _is_ no Throne of Skyrim! Your little moot of Jarls hasn't decided on an heir to the throne, and they never will. And what of the Empire? Who stands here to represent them?"

"I do," Crixus stated.

Elenwen laughed again. "You? You're nothing but a traitor yourself, a sleeper agent employed by us."

"That's what you'd like to believe, isn't it?" Crixus chuckled. "But the time for secrets is over." He rose up to his feet and approached Elenwen.

"As descendant, father to son and mother to daughter, of Martin Septim," he said. "I, Servius Crixus, do represent the Empire of Tamriel as her Emperor."

Elenwen laughed again. "You? The Emperor of Tamriel? You must be drunk. There was no heir to the Septim dynasty. It died out centuries ago."

"Look, Elenwen!" Crixus said, gesturing to Esbern, Delphine and Ragni. "Do you see the armor? Do you recognize their weapons?" He then lifted from beneath his armor something dark and red with a skull upon it, which Eirik had never seen before. Just as soon as it had appeared, Crixus stowed it away beneath his armor.

"Nothing ever dies," Crixus continued. "You may hunt us to the brink of extermination, you may attempt to weed us out through treachery and subterfuge, but we can never be wholly extinguished."

"A Breton, two idiot Nords and a piece of stained metal?" laughed Elenwen. "Is _this_ your grand proof, to make me fear what may have survived? You'll have to do much better than that, Crixus."

"May I strike her again, sir?" Delphine asked.

"No!" both Esbern and Crixus said as one. The younger of the two men turned back to Elenwen.

"We both know," he said. "That there are more than five thousand people in Skyrim. Why, in the Battle of Heljarchen Valley just last year, the Stormcloaks alone raised a force of four thousand against the Legion's six. Do you honestly believe that there was no one left in Skyrim on that very day?"

"Your point being?"

"My lady," Crixus said, turning to Elisif. "Speak your peace."

"On the first day of Midyear," Elisif began. "Dominion soldiers led by High Justicar Thelgil took control of the Blue Palace. Since then, there have been rumors of disappearing people throughout the city of Solitude. When the siege began, I was forced to watch in horror as six bodies were strung from the windows of my room alone in one hour."

"The White-Gold Concordant," Crixus said. "States that, for the cooperation of the undersigned with the above terms, 'no host, whether great or small, of the Aldmeri Dominion shall enter the sovereign lands of the Empire of Tamriel and shall not wage war with the Empire or the peoples of the Empire, whether openly or in secret.' This you have violated..."

"Did not the Empire violate the terms of the White-Gold Concordant," Elenwen asked. "When they let Ulfric Stormcloak enforce the worship of the false god Talos upon the city of Markarth?"

Crixus laughed. "_That's_ your argument? 'We have the right to break the treaty because you broke it first?'"

"What about the bands of Thalmor," Eirik interjected. "Terrorizing my people with imprisonment, loss of life, liberty and property?"

"Those were merely there to enforce the White-Gold Concordant," Elenwen stated. "As was permitted us under the terms of the treaty."

"Personally," Crixus said, turning to Elenwen. "I couldn't give two shites about Talos, but there is something that your Thalmor - not Thelgil - have done, while under _your_ supervision, I might add."

"And what horrible thing is this, pray tell?"

"According to my friend, the spell-sword Scipio Marcurio," Crixus began. "About the fourth day of Rain's Hand, last year, he encountered Ancano, who openly declared his affiliation with the Aldmeri Dominion and his association with the Thalmor embassy in Skyrim. Do you know this man..." He leaned in to Elenwen's face. "And please, don't lie."

"Ancano was indeed employed by us," Elenwen replied.

"It is also known, under this self-same witness, and myself," Crixus continued. "That on the eleventh day of Midyear, last year, your Ancano was found trying to tap a very powerful magical artifact: his tampering with it caused the eastern Pale and most of the hold of Winterhold to become littered with magical...anomalies which have plagued travelers there since then, endangering more lives than merely a few believers in Talos."

"Ancano operated alone," Elenwen said, rolling her eyes. "The Dominion had no part in his..."

"Well, I was there," Crixus stated. "And I remembered not one agent but _two!_ One operating as an inquisitor and the other as his back-up. Now tell me, what part of the White-Gold Concordant allows the Dominion, or its Thalmor agents, to infiltrate the College of Winterhold, attempt to steal and use a powerful et'Adan artifact - beyond the power of the aedra or the daedra - which then cost the lives of many in the College of Winterhold, including Arch-Mage Savos Aren?"

"I had no knowledge of this," Elenwen replied.

"Liar!" Crixus shouted. "You knew what was happening. How else did Ancano have back-up if not from you? There was no place for him to be hiding back up in the city or College of Winterhold."

"Then since you seem to know the answers already, tell me, oh conquering Emperor, what is the truth of the matter?"

"The truth," Crixus said, taking Elenwen's bait. "Is that you _knew_ what was going on in Saarthal, what was found there. You ordered Ancano to secure the Eye of Magnus and have it brought back to the Summerset Isles to be used to achieve godhood!"

"My, what an imagination you have! Are you sure you haven't been on skooma lately?"

Crixus nodded to Delphine, who struck Elenwen again.

"And these bodies in the streets of Solitude," he continued. "These are no coincidences, no unrelated series of unfortunate events. You and your 'Lord Commander' have been planning this: you wanted to go about it the sensible way, by using the Eye of Magnus to return your people to Aetherius to be with the Eight. Thelgil wanted to do the more extreme solution by eradicating humans from the face of Nirn!"

"Thelgil was a firebrand, even on Aldmeris," Elenwen replied. "And I cannot be blamed for any other actions. I was under house arrest in the embassy on Thelgil's orders. He trusted no one but himself."

"I know when Thelgil first arrived in Skyrim, Elenwen," Crixus retorted. "I know because I was there, I met him. I tried to reason with him, but he...he had some sort of an agenda against our friend the Dragonborn." He gestured towards Eirik. "But that was a long time ago, last year, in fact. You weren't under house arrest, you were there with me."

"You have no proofs of this," Elenwen stated calmly.

"This is pointless!" Eirik shouted, stepping up to where Crixus was interrogating Elenwen. "Trying to get a confession out of her is like talking to you, Crixus: nothing but banal contradiction!"

"I was about to say the same thing about you," Crixus retorted.

"Jarl Elisif," Elenwen said, addressing the Jarl. "This drum-head trial is spurious and unnecessary. No court or moot would ever convict me of any of these farcical charges. If it is at all possible for such narrow minded humans to do, can we not drop the charade and behave like civilized mer?"

"Enough of your arrogance!" Elisif snapped. "This is Skyrim, b*tch!"

"Name-calling, how quaint and unladylike," Elenwen commented with a smirk.

"You would do well to refrain from your arrogant tone," Elisif stated. "We have the power to put you to death if you don't cooperate."

"Kill me, then," Elenwen replied. "Then we'll see how swiftly the Aldmeri Dominion responds to those who disobey the White-Gold Concordant by killing their law-abiding servants."

"Glady," Eirik retorted angrily.

"No!" Crixus interjected, steppipng in between Eirik and Elenwen. "That's precisely what she wants."

"I'm sick of treating with these damn Thalmor!" Eirik roared. "And Skyrim is weary of them as well!"

"Then why doesn't Skyrim do something about it, then?" Elenwen asked.

"That's what I'm here for!"

"No!" Crixus shot back.

"And what exactly is he here for, if I may ask?" Elisif asked Crixus.

"You're not here to mete your own justice, Eirik," Crixus said, turning from Elenwen to Eirik. "You're here to represent the people of Skyrim..."

"That's why I'm here!"

"The people, not the nobility," Crixus stated. "They have a purpose the same as we do."

"Very moving," Elenwen stated. "But there is only one entity that has any purpose in this world, and it is neither the peasants nor the nobles of Skyrim or Cyrodiil: it is the Dominion."

"Is this to become another High Hrothgar peace summit?" Esbern suddenly asked. "All deliberation and nothing ever solved?"

"Hmph," Elenwen scoffed. "Fine words, old man, but what does it have to do with these fools before me?"

"These 'fools' hold your life in their hands!" Eirik retorted. "And you will respect Esbern's words."

"Or what, 'Dragonborn'? You'll kill me?"

"Hold!" Crixus rose his hand, then gestured to Ragni and Delphine to restrain Elenwen while he walked over to Elisif's throne and whispered into her ear. The young Jarl nodded, then Crixus placed his hand on Eirik's shoulder and led him to the right of the throne, over to a hallway which Eirik had not noticed before. Once they were alone and a little away from the throne room, he opened up on him with a vengeance.

"If you interrupt me again," he threatened. "I'll leave you out of this hearing and all that that will imply."

"I won't stand for this," Eirik stated. "Here you have the chance to do some good, to be better than the Empire, to secure us a safe future, and you're doing nothing but deliberating!"

"You see my predicament, don't you?" Crixus asked. "If I kill her, it will mean open war, but she's too dangerous to keep alive!"

"Well, do something!"

"Or what?"

"Or you _will_ have another rebellion on your hands!"

"Is that a threat?"

"What do you think?"

"Should I just kill her to satisfy your blood-lust and bring the wrath of the Dominion upon us before we are able to defend ourselves?"

Eirik wanted to reply with an immediate 'yes', but found that he could not answer according to his heart's desire. He thought of Mjoll, Lucia and now little Sigrun; he had already lost one battle against the Dominion, what if they came back again with more forces than before? Would he be able to protect Skyrim from them all alone?

"Why _am_ I here, after all?" Eirik finally asked. "What purpose do I serve, since you seem to have everything in hand already?"

"You'll know soon enough if you keep your damn mouth shut," Crixus retorted. "Now come on, we have a job to do."

Crixus led Eirik back out of the hallway and into the throne room, where the Blades were still keeping Elenwen under their guard. Crixus then took his place as prosecutor, standing between Elisif and Elenwen. Eirik stood off to the left of the throne, opposite Crixus.

"My lady," Crixus said, turning to the Jarl. "You see this one before us. For the safety of your people, she cannot go free, but for the safety of all of us, she cannot die: but she will not be allowed to go unpunished."

"I have every confidence in your judgment," Elisif replied. "Judge her according to your will."

"My lady," Crixus continued. "If this were Cyrodiil, I would be more than willing to judge her according to my wishes. But, as you are the High Queen by right, it is your duty to pass judgment on her."

"Yes, of course," Elenwen taunted. "Let _her_ decide my fate. The Empire wouldn't dream of telling Skyrim what it must do."

"You're really testing our patience, aren't you?" Crixus asked.

"Very well," Elisif spoke, rising up from her throne. "It is my decision as Jarl of Solitude and, as Servius Crixus has said before, as future High Queen, that Elenwen be banished from the nine holds of Skyrim."

Elenwen laughed. "Do you think that will stop me? I will be back at my old post within a year."

"I have spoken," Elisif stated, then turned to Crixus. "The rest I leave to you."

"As you wish, my lady," Crixus nodded, then turned to Elenwen. "Furthermore, to inact your banishment, you will be sent on the first ship out of here tomorrow with the tide, to set sail for the Summerset Isles, where you will be returned where you belong, alone with nothing more than the clothes upon your back."

Elenwen smirked at this. "At least you offer me a challenge, Crixus. I can respect that."

"Take her away," Crixus said to Delphine and Ragni. "Have Shaddar put her in the hold of the Red Dog."

The two Blades led Elenwen out of the palace, who still bore a confident, if not smug, smile on her face as she was led away. They led her down the stairs and passed out through the doors of the Palace, after which Crixus turned to Eirik.

* * *

><p>"And now," Crixus continued. "We come to why I called you here tonight."<p>

"Yes, why is that?" Eirik asked.

"As you know," Crixus began. "Your Ulfric Stormcloak is dead and the rebellion is over. Your little Sons of Skyrim movement has done more than enough damage to the safety of both Skyrim and the Empire. But..." He groaned. "...your contribution to the Siege of Solitude shall not go unrewarded. As your future Emperor, I pardon you of the crime of insurrection..."

"This is outrageous!" Elisif shouted, rising up from her throne in disgust.

"...on one condition," Crixus continued, holding up one finger. "You and your men must swear allegiance to the High Queen of Skyrim."

"The moot hasn't decided yet," Eirik replied. "Or do you admit that Elisif is your puppet, Emperor? That it is already decided that she will be High Queen whether the moot says so or not and we must merely accept it?"

"Yes," Crixus returned. "And it shall be so. Unfortunately, circumstances are most...inconvenient for the convening of the moot to occur. The Reach has returned to its rightful owners and Eastmarch is now controlled by the Dunmer. An official moot may take years to convene, if the Reachmen and the Dunmer are unwilling to accept serfdom to the Throne of Skyrim!"

"Just whose side are you on, my love?" Elisif asked.

"_Quiet!_" Crixus shouted.

"'Your love?'" Eirik asked. Then he too laughed.

"Shut up, just shut up!" Crixus seethed.

"Whatever happened to your loathing of Nord women?" Eirik asked. "You constantly called them fat and ignorant, as though you were an Altmer."

"You know nothing, Eirik!"

"I know that you're a liar," Eirik stated. "Everything you've said has been contradicted over and over. How am I to trust your word at all?"

"You can trust this," Crixus retorted, frustration in his eyes. "That the Empire will support Elisif as High Queen and we _will_ bring our legions into Skyrim to protect her throne, whether or not Falkreath and the Rift are loyal. You're just going to have to like it."

"Oh, is that a fact?" Eirik asked.

"You're wasting your time, Servius," Elisif said. "He is a traitor. He won't accept any offer we might give him."

"I didn't say that," Eirik spoke up. "In fact, I know of no reason why I cannot accept your offer."

"It is no longer available," Elisif retorted.

"Hear him out!" Crixus snapped.

"As you wish," she replied, appearing a bit stunned at Crixus' harsh response.

"I've lost many good men these past few weeks," Eirik began. "And it was done to save Skyrim from the threat of the Dominion. Now you ask me to swear allegiance to you? There is only one way that I will do this..."

"Let me guess, when you're dead?" Elisif asked.

"By all the gods, your highness!" Esbern exclaimed. "Let the man talk!"

Eirik noticed how easily Elisif cowed before those who stood up to her. Part of him wanted to laugh this all off and leave Solitude for good: the High Queen was weak and could be easily controlled. But there was another part of him that wanted to be done with fighting. He had blooded himself more than enough at great cost and now he had a family to look after: he wanted it to come to a halt.

"There is only one way that I will swear my allegiance to you," Eirik said, approaching the throne. "I want you to look me in the eyes and swear to me that you will do everything in your power to protect Skyrim and her people from all threats, abroad and at home. That you will not put foreign interests ahead of those of your own people and that our people will be free to do as we have done for all the years that we have lived on this land."

"I am not answerable to you," Elisif replied.

"I am the Dragonborn!" Eirik answered sternly. "I have saved Skyrim while you and Crixus and everyone else was busy fighting among themselves. As chief captain of the Sons of Skyrim, my aim has not changed: I still fought to protect the people of Skyrim from all threats, to put their interests above those of foreigners and to keep our people free. But if I am to swear my allegiance to you, then I place the burden of responsibility on your shoulders. Protect and serve the people of Skyrim: that is all I ask. Will you do this?"

Elisif's large blue eyes shifted slightly towards Crixus, who nodded and performed a gesture which Eirik, who was gazing intently at the Jarl, did not see. Turning back to him, Elisif saw in his eyes the gravity and the enormity of the burden he was about to pass onto her shoulders: the burden of trust. He was trusting her with the well-being of the entire country, a burden which he had born through many long nights and uncertain days of which Elisif knew very little.

"It shall be done," Elisif replied firmly, her blue eyes gazing back into Eirik's brown eyes.

Eirik reached for his great-sword, but found that he had it not with him. Wuuthrad he had left behind in the carriage, since he had fallen asleep before Torgrim found him. Just then Crixus cleared his throat and pointed towards Torgrim. Turning there, Eirik saw the large Nord had upon his back a large sword which he had not noticed on the ride up to the city. It was the Great-sword of the Skaal! Crixus snapped his fingers and Torgrim gave the sword to Eirik, who held it out before Elisif.

"Then accept my sword as an oath of allegiance," Eirik said, offering Elisif his sword and coming down to one knee.

Slowly Elisif rose from off her throne and gracefully stepped down the two steps of the dais to where Eirik knelt. She placed her thin, small hand upon the blade. There was a long silence in the throne room, as if the Jarl was wrestling yet with something known only to herself.

"I accept it," she said at last. "And I pardon you of the crime of insurrection. Rise, Eirik Bjornsson; you are a free man."

Eirik sighed off the heavy burden he had been carrying for months on end, then rose to his feet. As he stood there, the Great-sword of the Skaal in his hands, Crixus approached him from behind and, placing a hand on his shoulder, spoke to him.

"Well now," he said, a smile on his face. "Now that that's settled, let's get your men inside and have them swear their allegiance as well."

"No," Eirik shook his head. "I must burn the fallen Sons of Skyrim."

"They're not to be burned until those elves have seen them!" Crixus interjected.

"They were _my_ subordinates," Eirik returned. "And I will give them the honor due them. Afterwards, I must return to Whiterun to give back Jorrvaskr to the Companions."

"The Companions!" Elisif exclaimed. "Are you aware of what has become of the Companions?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid, my lady," Crixus spoke up. "That Eirik is a little behind the times. It comes from being banished."

"The Stone-arm Companions in Jorrvaskr are far fallen from Ysgramor's Five Hundred," Elisif began. "Rumor has it that they have become Jarl Hrongar and Justicar Eldawyn's personal assassins, killing at will even those who are not worshipers of Talos."

"How long has this been so?"

"Since Sun's Dawn."

"And you've done _nothing_?"

"Jarl Hrongar has made it clear," Elisif replied. "That because I am not High Queen yet, I have no authority over him and his hold."

"Your lofty Nord traditions at work, eh?" Crixus asked Eirik, turning to him with a victorious smirk on his face.

"All the more reason, your highness," Eirik stated. "For me to go there and restore honor to the high hall of Jorrvaskr. Now if you will pardon me, I must honor the fallen." Eirik turned around and walked back down the stairs towards the door; he was done with politics for more than a lifetime.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen when Eirik left the Blue Palace and made his way to the courtyard of Castle Dour. Curiously, he walked into the keep itself, which stank of rotting flesh. Inside he saw the body of Thelgil, lying upon the floor: it had been left there since the battle. Eirik tore off the stalhrim breast-plate and gauntlets from the body: those he would take back to Lakeview Estate as tokens of his victory.<p>

In the courtyard, Eirik asked for help from the Imperial soldiers of the Haafingar garrison to help him prepare the bodies of his comrades. Only the Nords agreed and helped clear a wide berth in the courtyard for them to be burned. Once this was done, Eirik and the soldiers built a great pyre out of wood that had been brought in from the East Empire Trading Company warehouse in the bay. Each of the Sons of Skyrim who had fallen in the battle were placed upon the grand pyre, shoulder to shoulder as though they were brothers.

In the center of the pyre, atop a mound made of straw-bales, there Eirik would place Galmar and Lydia. He removed the banner from the bodies, then lifted up Lydia's body and carried it to the pyre, where he laid it facing Whiterun, with her sword upon her breast as it had been before. Lastly he went back for the shield, placing it upon his back as he lifted Galmar's feeble, decaying body off the stones and brought him to the pyre, laying him facing Windhelm. Climbing back down, he placed the banner with the stalhrim armor and then asked for a torch. No dragon's fire would burn these dead, not when one of them had braved the dragon's breath with him in the mists of Sovngarde.

Then Eirik took the torch from the soldier and thrust it into the dry straw-bales piled about the pyre. He watched as he had when Kodlak Whitemane was committed to the flames as the bright yellow-orange tongues licked up the stalks of straw, then bade the fallen heroes their final farewell. The air was filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh and clothing as the bodies were consumed. When at last the fire reached the bodies of Galmar and Lydia, Eirik found himself muttering the words he had heard Aela speak when they committed Kodlak to the flames.

"Before the flames we grieve," he murmured. "At this great loss we weep. For the fallen we shout..."

"And for ourselves," he heard Crixus speaking behind him. "We take our leave."

"Why are you here?" Eirik asked, turning towards the newcomer.

"I leave in the morning," Crixus stated. "My ship sails at first light. I know you probably want to be getting on with whatever you have to do in Whiterun, but I want to have a private word with you, while we can."

"Is there anything more to be said between us," Eirik asked, his eyes turning back to the flames. "That hasn't been said before?"

"Yes," Crixus replied. "To start with..." He sighed the same wearied sigh that too often escaped Eirik's lips. "...an old man's apology."

"For what?" Eirik asked, too morose from the burning to make jest.

"You're a much better man than I've given you credit for," Crixus stated. "I know we've had our..." He cleared his throat. "...'differences' in the past, but I trust that we can let them stay there." He placed his hand on Eirik's shoulder. "Just don't be an arse about it and we shouldn't have any more problems, you understand?"

"Is that the best you can do?"

"At least it's something, right?" Crixus asked.

"So..." Eirik began, turning slowly towards Crixus. "...you're the Emperor now?"

"Who else is left?" Crixus asked. "Titus is dead, Potema's spirit has been returned to Aetherius, and as of now, I am the closest to the Septim dynasty that we have. It wasn't just to represent the Empire before Elenwen's trial: you..." He groaned in frustration again. "...were right."

"What?"

"You were _right_, there, I said it!" Crixus snapped. He then sighed again and continued. "I managed to convince you to fight together with me against the Dominion and we won the day. Now I have to make sure there's still an Empire standing: the Dominion aren't finished with us, so we have to be ready."

"Ready to do what?" Eirik asked.

"To fight," Crixus resigned. "Yes, it may yet come to that. A second Great War with the Dominion. But, gods willing, we will be ready for them."

"I thought you don't believe in the gods," Eirik retorted.

"I don't do prayers or hold with ancient prophecies or mutter old chants, if that's what you mean," Crixus replied. "But I respect them the same way I respect the daedra."

"You've been lying to me this whole time, haven't you?" Eirik asked.

"Of course," Crixus answered. "I wanted to see your reaction."

Eirik rolled his eyes, then turned back to the pyre. "So, what was that about Elis..."

"Listen," Crixus returned. "There are some things you just can't know. You weren't supposed to know about, well, you heard what Serana said." Eirik nodded. "This one is even greater. Don't ever bring it up, do you hear me?"

"Whatever you say, Your Majesty," Eirik said in grim jest. Crixus chuckled, then looked down at his feet.

"You still have it with you?"

Eirik looked down and saw Lydia's shield before his feet and the banner that had wrapped them lying under it. He had met to send the shield into the fire with her, but hesitated. Perhaps one day his daughter would bear it in her name and memory. He then looked down at the flag.

"Do you like it?" Crixus asked. "I had Radiant Raiment make it for you the night after our siege. They had enough cloth, but the rest was difficult to guess. They finished it just this afternoon, of all things. It's yours."

"Mine?"

"Your personal banner," Crixus replied.

"Am I not the Bear of Eastmarch?"

"Well, the Bear is already taken," Crixus returned. "And I remember seeing a raven over you at every battle where you took the field."

"I was too busy watching the enemy," Eirik grimly replied.

"Do I get no thanks?"

Eirik rolled his eyes, then muttered his thanks before turning back to the blazing pyre. "So what happens now?"

"We go our separate ways," Crixus replied. "You to Whiterun and I to Cyrodiil. You know I haven't been there since, oh, I don't know...well, I was in Cheydinhal for less than a month, but I haven't been to my family's house in Anvil since the War. I can't wait to see what's become of it. But when I get there, things will be different. And I may yet require your services."

"My services?"

"You'll never know when a fire-breathing, dragon-summoning Nord warrior might come in handy," Crixus smirked.

"What about your threat to slit my throat if I..."

"Talos needed his Wulfharth," Crixus interrupted. "I don't fucking know, maybe it's the same with us." He looked up towards the Blue Palace, then back to Eirik. "I suppose this is goodbye for now."

"Aye, perhaps," Eirik muttered.

Crixus held out his hand to Eirik, who seized it as far as the elbow in the old Colovian fashion. "Farewell. I go to claim my throne and you your great hall. By the Eight and by Sithis, by all the princes of Oblivion..._and_ by Talos, we shall meet again. Your Emperor may yet require your services."

"May the gods watch over your battles...friend," Eirik replied, smiling.

They broke off their arm embrace and Crixus made his way southward, towards the Blue Palace. He looked thither once again and, in the light of the fire, Eirik saw him hesitate. Just beyond, at the edge of the courtyard, he saw Rikke gazing into the fire. He walked towards them, then thought better of it and halted, calling back to Crixus.

"You never pardoned me like you said you would."

Without turning around, Crixus replied: "I already have."

Eirik could not laugh, for grief was still too near: he sighed an ounce of mirth before turning back to the flames. Crixus cast one last glance back at the Dragonborn, smiled, then turned around and made his way westward, towards the gate of Solitude. From there he would ride down to the East Empire docks and board the Red Dog with Shaddar and Rayya and Elenwen their prisoner and begin his long voyage home.

The Dragon of the South and the Bear of Eastmarch parted at last on friendly terms.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: Wow, still can't believe we're almost done...and yet i'm going to keep publishing <em>more<em> stories based on my _Elder Scrolls_ fanon! At least there is still somewhere i can take this story, not like the _Ozian Adventures_ which fizzled out as soon as i tried doing original stuff.)**

**(Lots of stuff going on in this chapter, some of which is resolution, some of which is set-up for Crixus' story [especially his ersatz relationship with Elisif]. I got a bit confused there with so many people with E's in their names [Eirik, Esbern, Elisif and Elenwen...oh my!], so i hope i had everything together. Also i did show that, despite her bravado, Rikke does harbor a hidden respect for her warrior people. This is shown in the Imperial victory where she says "Talos guard you" to Ulfric and Galmar once they're dead, but i wanted something a bit more subtle: so i have her say no words or do no actions other than just quietly place an amulet of Talos on Galmar's body. Since Eirik has been through a lot, i wanted him to be able to come back to Mjoll and Sigrun without any more complications. I also managed to watch a video of a live birth for as close a reference to what happened with Mjoll for this story, and it was close to how i described this birth in this story.)**

**(Though this feels like a better conclusion than the last chapter, we're not done yet. Stay tuned for the epilogue!)**


	56. Epilogue - Reunification

**(AN: And here we are, now finally at the end. Soon we will be working on _The Dragon of the South_, and see the earlier events of _Skyrim_ through Crixus' eyes, as well as a deeper insight to his character and the Nords of Skyrim from an outsider's perspective.)**

**(This will be the wrap-up chapter, though hopefully not ten thousand words like the last one [lol]. Since i'm also a big fan of some of the better _Skyrim_ mods [i mentioned Vilja as a companion of the Hero of Kvatch], here is an appearance from one of the Interesting NPCs [another one may appear in another spin-off story about the Fall of Markarth])**

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue - Reunification<strong>

Eirik was guiding the carriage, surrounded by the Companions. Seven days had passed since the last day of the siege of Whiterun. Everyone was already making their way back to their respective places: the Legions to their posts in Skyrim or High Rock, the Orcish army from Dawnstar to Orsinium and their various fortresses in Skyrim, the Blades to Sky Haven Temple, Mjoll, Lucia, baby Sigrun and Serana - on temporary leave from her 'other' duties - to Lakeview Estate and the Sons of Skyrim back to Riften. Only Eirik Bjornsson, the Dragonborn, could not return home yet. He had one last trial ahead of him.

After the Siege of Solitude, Eirik straightway left for the siege camp in the marshes below. There the Companions were waiting for him for the completion of his word. They had waited long enough and were becoming restless of the constant delays. Eirik also was incensed by what he had heard Elisif say regarding the Companions. People were going to pay through the nose when he arrived in Whiterun.

It took them longer to reach Whiterun than the Companions would have preferred, for Eirik insisted that they accompany Mjoll, Lucia and the baby to Lakeview Estate. Despite Serana's insistence that no harm would come to them, Eirik was still unwilling to trust his infant child in anyone else's hands but his own. Therefore, pulling the carriage through the swamps took more than half a day, and the rest of that leaving western Hjaalmarch. The next two days were spent crossing the verdant plains of Whiterun, already starting to turn golden with the lateness of the season. When they arrived in Falkreath, they passed by Oakwood and turned east, following the road to Lakeview Estate. There, after spending the night, Eirik bade farewell to Mjoll and his two daughters and then took the Companions northeast, following the same road he had taken with Ralof after they fled from Helgen a year ago.

They did not stay in Riverwood, though Eirik would have liked to have seen if Ralof saw Hadvar again, and pressed on towards the fields of Whiterun. They spent the night in an old barn-house on one of the farms upon the south-eastern plains of Whiterun, this one belonging to none other than Nazeem, an interesting little toady whom Eirik had encountered in Whiterun.

"Always talking about this place he is," Vilkas stated. "Though no one's ever seen him here. We should be out of sight for a while."

"So what's the plan?" Eirik asked.

"We were hoping that you had one," Aela replied.

"Me?" Eirik asked.

"Well, yes," she returned. "We've tried everything: telling them Kodlak's wishes, threatening them, even engaging them two or three times. Nothing worked."

Eirik sighed. "Well, I have nothing."

"Except Wuuthrad," Farkas stated.

The large axe of Ysgramor was sitting on Eirik's lap. Torgrim, who had been given leave to join Eirik in this desperate quest, had told him that Crixus was the one who had returned the axe to him, along with its cheeky note.

Eirik sighed as he looked down at their lantern: no fire for them, for they would be coming to Whiterun in secret and three of their number would not be sleeping this night.

"Listen," he began. "I know that I have tested your long-suffering with me by foregoing this burden until the utmost."

"No fancy words," Farkas stated. "Speak plainly to us."

"I hope that you will come to forgive me," Eirik clarified. "I am not a leader and..."

"Save your words," Aela interrupted. "Earn back our trust, our honor and our respect by giving us back Jorrvaskr."

Eirik nodded, then lifted up the lantern to put out the light inside as he saw the others were growing sleepy. Ria's head had fallen asleep on Torvar's shoulder, whose head was leaned back against a large bale of hay while his left hand still clutched a bottle of Nord mead. Hermir had fallen asleep huddled in a corner of the barn by herself: even Torgrim and Thorald Grey-Mane were starting to become dreary-eyed. The Inner Circle departed to hunt through the night with the promise to return before dawn to lead them into Whiterun.

"Is this it?" Torgrim, clad in heavy steel plate armor rather than his usual Imperial uniform and gear, asked.

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "This is it. Nine will not do much against whatever we may face up in Whiterun."

"Nine may be all we need," said Torgrim.

"He's right," Thorald added. "We were only twenty-three when we escaped Windhelm, remember?"

Eirik grumbled his approval, but said nothing else. The recent conflict with the Thalmor was something he did not wish to experience again.

"Nine Companions," Torgrim muttered to himself. "For the Nine Holds of Skyrim and the Nine Divines above."

"You worship Talos?" Thorald asked.

"Aye, any true Nord should," Torgrim returned.

"But aren't you loyal to the Empire?"

"I keep to our traditions, Harbinger," Torgrim grumbled. "And that ends the matter."

"But what about what you said?" Thorald asked Eirik. "Isn't the worship of Talos still outlawed?"

Eirik did not immediately respond. As far as he learned from Esbern after the burning of the fallen Sons of Skyrim, the White-Gold Concordant was still technically intact, though he had learned from Crixus that, without Elenwen to direct them, the dozens of leaderless Thalmor justicars scattered across Skyrim would be useless in upholding the Talos ban.

"It's more complicated than that," he replied at last. Part of him hoped that Elisif would send him and the Sons of Skyrim to root out the justicars from Skyrim. If they were to be made inept by reason of the embassy being shut down and its records thoroughly examined, then they should be removed as well. Let the Aldmeri Dominion think that the White-Gold Concordant still held - though, due to all that had happened lately, it was nothing more than paper. Then again, he knew not of what new duty the Blades were given.

Thorald sighed. "I fear what you did was a poor mistake, Dragonborn," he said at last. "What difference does it make between bending the knee to the Thalmor and bending the knee to Elisif?"

"I gave her my word," Eirik retorted. "If she does not honor her promise to protect and serve the people of Skyrim, then we are removed from that oath of honor."

"_You_ are, you mean," said Thorald. "The rest of us swore no oath yet."

"You will," Eirik returned.

"Not I," Thorald replied with a cheeky grin. "I'm a Companion, remember?"

Eirik groaned. He knew that he had been guilty of breaking that tradition, but he had no excuse. The situation with the Thalmor demanded that he fight. But there was nothing else to be said. He bade Torgrim and Thorald goodnight, then said his prayers and put out the lantern. Then he wrapped himself in a blanket and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>Morning came too soon for his liking. But it arrived, deep blue in the east, and the Inner Circle roused them from their slumber. The news they brought was fair: no patrols along the main road or hunts from the Stone-arm Companions could be seen for miles around. Today would be the day to fight.<p>

The Nine Companions gird their loins with their armor and painted their faces with woad paint, brought in by the Circle, for the battle ahead. Vilkas and Farkas were impossible to tell apart in their Inner Circle wolf armor, gray and lined with fur from the gray dire-wolf, along with black woad rubbed around their eyes: they both looked like walking corpses. Aela wore leather armor in the ancient Nordic style, crafted by Eorlund Grey-Mane, and, as usual, rubbed green woad upon her face as two clawed hands striking across her face. Ria applied thin black lines to her eyes and chin, to go with her new set of steel armor she had purchased in Oakwood. Torgrim, already looking like a giant in his steel plate armor, rubbed crimson woad across his eyes in a single 'bloody' stripe. Hermir, iron-clad, rubbed the same crimson woad upon her mouth and lower chin, giving off the appearance of having freshly devoured bloody flesh, before placing an iron horned helmet upon her head: a favorite of adventurers across Skyrim. Thorald wore light-weight fur armor with small iron studs and rubbed his chin and neck with white woad in honor of Clan-Grey Mane, with black upon the eyes. Torvar, clad in leather armor, refused to wear any woad.

"I don't need no paint for today's battle," he slurred. "I haven't had enough to drink in months. When Njada sees my face _now_, she'll be running for the hills!"

Lastly there was Eirik, the Dragonborn, clad in dragon-bone armor which had kept him from the Soul Cairn until now and still remained unbroken. He wore not the helmet, nor Galmar's bear-skin: that sat in Lakeview Estate, with Thelgil's stalhrim armor, Lydia's shield, the Great-sword of the Skaal and the coat of a Colovian mountain lion - which Aerin, who was at Lakeview waiting for them when they arrived, had brought thither from Mjoll's chest in his house in Riften. Upon the left side of his face he rubbed a single stripe of blue woad going down his face from his forehead to his beard.

At last, geared, painted and battle-ready, they made their way towards the hill of Whiterun. They passed the road where Eirik first encountered the Companions while battling a giant in the fields, then made their way up to the ruined stone wall around the base of the hill. They passed first under the gate, then turned right as the road wound up past a wooden tower and turned towards the gates of Whiterun. Before the great gates they were stopped by a soldier in Imperial armor.

"Halt!" he said. "By order of the Jarl, no one is allowed to carry weapons in the city of Whiterun!"

"We are the Companions," Vilkas stated. "We have always been allowed..."

"Oh!" the soldier suddenly stammered. "I-I didn't know. P-Please, go inside! I won't stop you. Of course, I won't. I'm on your side, after all, right?"

They entered the Plains District of Whiterun, all of them asking each other why the Imperial soldier seemed so terrified of the Companions. Eirik ventured a guess, but he wished that it were not so. With each step he prayed that Elisif was wrong, that they had not fallen _that_ far.

The Plains District was still quiet, with a few shopkeepers readying their stalls in silence. In the center of the square, by the well, Eirik saw the gallows which had been set up recently. There was still a body hanging from it. They turned away from the gallows and made up the incline towards the Wind District. To Eirik's delight, the Gildergleam was still in bloom, but to his horror, there were bodies hanging from its pergola as well. They turned right again and passed up towards the great hall Jorrvaskr. Hanging from the shields upon the 'roof' of the hall were the black and yellow banners of the Aldmeri Dominion as well as the red and black banner of the Empire. Gone was the red and gold banner of Wuuthrad, the true banner of the Companions.

Eirik approached the door and tried to open it. It was locked.

"Did you really expect it to be unlocked?" Aela asked.

"Stand back," Farkas said, walking up to the door. "I've got this."

Farkas, who was tall and broad-shouldered, thrust his shoulder towards the door. It clanged loudly and shook, but it did not break. Again Farkas threw himself against the door but the same thing happened. A third time he did it, and though the doors quivered, they held fast.

"No, no, no, you're doing it all wrong," Torgrim's deep, low voice cut in as he strode over to the door.

Easily dwarfing even Farkas, Torgrim threw himself shoulder first into the door with a loud roar. There was a loud crack of wood as Torgrim pulled himself back. Then Torgrim and Farkas both threw themselves upon the door and it gave way. One by one they walked into the hall, which was filled with people rising up and drawing their swords. At least sixty were present here: twenty of them had been former hopefuls during Kodlak's tenure, but the majority were new recruits. There were many of all races here, including Argonians and Altmer. In response to their weapons being drawn, the Nine Companions drew their weapons. Those Nords among them who saw the axe Wuuthrad gasped and whispered to themselves, while the elves look at it with disgust and fear.

"Who dares come into _my_ hall in so rude a manner?" a familiar voice demanded.

To the right they saw four figures approaching them. Second shortest among them was Njada, dressed in studded hide armor with her helmet held under the crook of her arm. To her right was Athis, dressed similarly and holding a steel sword in hand. One other face Eirik recognized: a tall Nord woman with a dirty, weathered face clad in steel armor with a great-sword on her shoulder and her long, red-golden hair braided along the sides. This was Uthgerd the Unbroken, called Battle-Wolf by some, and she was the strongest brawler in the Bannered Mare, undefeated by all (save for him). The fourth was one Eirik did not recognize: a young girl, roughly Elisif's same age, with reddish hair. Stranger though, she wore the same gray wolf armor that the twins wore.

"Your Harbinger has returned," Eirik said. "To unite the Companions once again."

"_I_ am the only Harbinger of the Companions, milk drinker," Njada replied. "You are not welcome here, nor are those rag-tag vagabonds at your back."

"This rag-tag," Aela interjected. "Once lived in this hall. We lived, slept, drank, fought and made love in this hall the same as you. Do you not remember us as we were?"

"Before this 'man' killed our leaders?" Njada asked, gesturing to Eirik. "Kodlak is dead, Skjor is dead, Vignar and Eorlund are all dead thanks to him!"

"Vignar and Eorlund didn't die because of him," Thorald interjected. "They were killed by the Jarl and Clan Battle-Born."

"Those words are treason, my old 'friend'," another familiar voice replied. Eirik saw another walk up from the living quarters below the great hall. He was clad in Imperial leather armor and walked with a proud, if not arrogant, swagger. His mustache was curled slightly at the ends and his beard was still long and pointed: everything about him was just the same. His blue eyes, to Eirik, seemed like black holes, holding him as though under a spell.

"Idolaf!" Thorald spat. "You shame this hall with your presence!"

"On the contrary, old friend," said Idolaf Battle-Born as he took his place next to Njada. "I honor it with my presence and my family's name. But you, my friend: why are you still alive?"

"Murderer!" Thorald shouted.

"'Murder' is such a loose word, don't you think...milk drinker?" Idolaf asked, speaking to Eirik. "Weak, simple-minded people such as yourself would call us murderers. We do what the Jarl commands, just as old Kodlak Whitemane did before him."

"We never allied ourselves to their wars, though!" Vilkas returned. "Why then do you hang their banners from this sacred hall?"

"You're in his company," Idolaf said, pointing to Eirik and Thorald. "All of you must die."

"Wait!" Eirik shouted. "Uthgerd, why are you here?"

"Njada said," Uthgerd replied. "That I could join the Companions. She wasn't afraid of some stupid accident."

"But there is no honor to be had here!" Eirik returned. "Come with us!" He then turned to them all. "Come with us, all of you! Join me! I am the Harbinger of the Companions, made so by Kodlak Whitemane. Behold Wuuthrad, the Axe of Ysgramor!" He held up the axe. Several voices rose up in cheer.

"Anyone cheering this traitor dies with him," Idolaf stated.

"Who runs the Companions?" Eirik asked Njada. "You..." He then pointed to Idolaf. "...or him?"

"Shut up, milk drinker!" roared Njada. She and Idolaf then began giving orders to those behind them.

"Fjona," Vilkas said to the young girl. "You're with her against us?"

"Who is she?" Eirik asked, turning to Vilkas.

"A foolish orphan," Farkas stated. "Who thinks herself better than us."

"I don't need the Companions!" the young Fjona replied, her voice thick with the old Nordic accent. "I told you all before, it was just a crutch I had to get rid of eventually."

"Crutch?" roared Farkas. "Crutch? You _dare_ call the Companions a crutch?" He reached for his great-sword.

"Farkas, no!" Vilkas interjected.

"We let you in!" Farkas continued. "Gave you a home, trained you to fight, gave you that armor, offered our lives to you, treated you like a sister, and you turned your back on us!"

"I don't need anyone's life for mine," Fjona replied calmly. "I defend myself, as I should have been doing all along."

"Then why are you with them?" Eirik asked, pointing to Idolaf and Njada.

"They made me!" Fjona began, but Idolaf struck her on the back of the head with his palm.

"We enforce the law in Whiterun," said Idolaf. "All free-lance warriors and mercenaries either work for us or are outlawed. She had no choice."

"Which law, Idolaf?" Eirik asked. "The old law or your elvish law?"

"Do not insult Justicar Eldawyn!" Idolaf retorted. "Kill them!"

"I will Shout you all down if you attack us," Eirik stated. "I am, after all, the Dragonborn. You yourself, Idolaf, admitted as much before, do you not remember?"

Eirik saw the others whisper still regarding what they had heard. Idolaf meanwhile burst out into laughter.

"Your Stormcloak lies fall on deaf ears, milk drinker,"

"That was not a lie," Uthgerd replied. "I was there on Talosfest when you defended him and raised your cup to him as the Dragonborn."

"Shut up, b*tch!" Idolaf roared.

"Enough talk!" Eirik shouted to those behind the five heads of the Stone-arm Companions. "This is your last chance: join us or we shall fight you and you may die. You will not be held accountable for anything done under their service if you join us."

"Join them and you _will_ die!" Idolaf retorted. "That is a promise! No mercy for cowards and traitors!"

To their surprise, Uthgerd stepped out of the line and walked over to Eirik's side.

"You turn your back on me?" Njada asked.

"I told you I want no part in these lynchings!" said Uthgerd. "I'm a warrior, not a tool."

Several others joined the Nine Companions, though there was still a greater majority on the Stone-arm side. At this, Idolaf flashed his usual mocking grin.

"Sixteen against three and fifty?" he mocked. "You stand no chance! Kill them all, for Jarl Hrongar and for the Empire!"

"_Fus...Ro Dah!_" Eirik shouted.

Everyone in front of Eirik's Thu'um was thrown backwards. Some struck the wooden walls of the hall, some slammed into each other or knocked down chairs and tables, so great was the unrelenting force of the Thu'um. Athis fell into the fire-pit in the center, but pulled himself out before he was burned. Those who rose cowered towards Eirik, throwing down their weapons and begging to be spared.

"Cowards!" roared Idolaf. "Traitors, all of you! This is mutiny! You will all die for this!"

"Tell me, Idolaf," Eirik asked as he walked towards Idolaf Battle-Born, the memory of the eleventh day of Sun's Dawn still etched firmly into his mind. "How does it feel to be betrayed by those who you believed were your friends?"

"You can't do this to me!" Idolaf retorted. "I own the Companions!"

"Why? Because daddy is friends with the Jarl?" Eirik asked.

"Fuck you!" Idolaf retorted, trying to sound bolder. "The-The Thalmor! I have friends among them! They have legions in Dawnstar and Solitude! They will hear about this, they'll come for you! You will all die!"

"I guess bad news travels slow," Eirik returned. "The Dominion legions in Solitude and Dawnstar are slain. There will be no back-up for you."

"No!"

"It's over, Idolaf!"

"Oblivion take you, cock-sucker!"

With that, Idolaf drew out his Imperial gladius from its sheath and charged at Eirik: all around them those who chose to stand with Idolaf and Njada charged the fifteen behind the Dragonborn. The Battle for Jorrvaskr had begun. Eirik blocked the first blow with the haft of Wuuthrad, as strong as its blade, and sent Idolaf stumbling back as he pushed him away. Again Idolaf swung, but Eirik blocked the blow again. Then he strode back and made a wide swing with Wuuthrad. Idolaf barely had time to leap out of the way before being lopped in two.

All around them the fighting was intense. Torgrim had knocked a Nord and an orc dressed in mage robes to the ground while Farkas and Vilkas were fighting back to back. Aela had her knife out and was going toe to toe with young Fjona. All eyes, however, were on Eirik as he strove with Idolaf. The blond Nord swung again, but this time Eirik caught the blade with his armored hand and wrenched it out of Idolaf's hand. Then with a kick to the chest, he floored Idolaf. All swords and axes were halted and all eyes watched with wrapped attention as Eirik slowly walked over to where Idolaf lay and placed the bearded blade of Wuuthrad against his bearded neck..

"Don't kill me!" he begged. "P-Please! I didn't mean it! I just wanted order, I just want things to go back the way they were before Ulfric and the Stormcloaks. Please don't kill me!"

There was silence in Jorrvaskr. Eirik looked down at him in contempt: no Nord would beg for his life. He had grown soft living in the peace and safety of Whiterun, in the luxury of his clan home and Dragonsreach. To kill him would be without honor.

"You're not even worth it," Eirik replied, moving the ax-blade from Idolaf's throat. He then turned to the last three of those who first opposed him.

"What about you, girl?" Eirk asked Fjona.

"I don't want to be here," she replied defiantly. "I have my own demons to battle."

"Then go!" Eirik pointed to the door. Fjona walked towards the doors of Jorrvaskr, glaring back at the disapproving eyes of the Inner Circle.

"I 'ope you don't 'old any ire against me, 'arbinger," Athis spoke up. "I was on your side the 'ole time."

"Liar!" Njada retorted.

"I even told Njada that maybe we shouldn't be fighting you," he stated. "I just..."

"Get out of my sight!" Eirik seethed.

"Oh, right then," Athis replied. "Per'aps I'll see if the Fighters Guild in Cyrodiil would be more to my tastes." He then also walked towards the door and left.

"And what about you?" Eirik asked, turning towards Njada.

"Fuck you, milk drinker!" she shouted. "Just because you beat that Battle-Born pain the ass doesn't mean I'll just kneel down before you and suck your..."

"Have you no shame, Njada?" Vilkas asked.

"Haven't you any?" she retorted. "Siding with this weakling against your own flesh and blood! Your own shield-sister!"

"You burned Kodlak's diary!" Vilkas accused.

"He fell to madness in the end," she defended. "These idiots would have believed it!" She gestured to those around her. This elicited more murmur from them, more of whom started shifting towards Eirik's side.

"Listen to me," Eirik said, turning to those still undecided. "I do not wish to have any blood spilled in this hall."

"He's a liar!" Njada interrupted. "A liar and a fool, _and_ a traitor!"

"If you stay here," he continued, ignoring her words. "I will tend to your wounds and return you and this hall to a place of honor."

"No he won't!" Njada retorted.

"If you choose to leave," Eirik continued. "You will be allowed to leave without being molested or slain. You will not be considered a coward or weak-willed if you leave or join us. But if you fight against us after today, there will be no mercy!"

"Liar!" Njada accused, pointing a finger at him. "He'll kill us all. He'll lead you all to your deaths!"

"Somebody shut her up already!" Hermir snapped, her voice rising in anger.

Torvar swung to punch Njada in the face, but he was still uneasy on his feet and missed. Instead she punched him in the balls, then kicked his face with her knee, throwing him to the ground. Her foot then nailed down on his neck.

"Get her off me!" Torvar slurred. "Get her off me!"

Torgrim let the Orc and Nord he was holding down and walked over to where Njada stood, lifting her off Torvar with the same ease as Eirik would hold a sack of flour upon his back. She kicked, screamed, bit, clawed, punched and cursed like a maniac, but it did not deter Torgrim.

"Skjor was killed by the Silver Hand," Eirik said, walking over to Njada. "Kodlak was killed by the Silver Hand. Vignar and Eorlund were killed by the treacherous Battle-Borns! I have done nothing to you: so what the fuck is your problem?"

"You're my problem, ass-hole!" Njada retorted.

"What?" Eirik roared. "What could I have possibly done?"

"I don't need to explain anything to _you_, b*tch!" Njada snapped.

Torgrim punched her in the face, but Eirik told him to halt as he approached her.

"Tell me why!" he insisted.

"Why do I need a reason to hate you?" she began. "Half of Skyrim is sucking your cock as it is because you're the Dragonborn of legend, 'ooh, look at me, I can shout dragons out of the sky!'" She snapped her fingers towards Eirik's nose, but Torgrim seized her hand in his, holding it in a tight grip.

"And I'm the only person in Skyrim smart enough to see you for what you are!" she retorted. "You're weak, you're dumb, you're a traitor! You've ruined _everything_ about the Companions! You ruined my _life_ when Skjor let you in! I wish you'd drop dead, you fucking cunt!"

"That b*tch is crazy!" Torvar coughed, rising up from the floor.

"I'm not crazy, you drunk ass-hole!" Njada protested. "I just hate this piece of shit right here! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! Why do I need a fucking reason? I just _hate_ him!" She groaned in frustration, beating Torgrim's arms with her fists as hard as she could.

"Throw her out," Eirik said to Torgrim. "She's not worth our time."

"You haven't seen the last of me, ass-hole!" she retorted as Torgrim carried her out towards the door. "I'll find Athis and then we'll join the Fighters Guild together, and then we're coming after you! I'll kill you, I'll kill you in your sleep, you milk-drinking little coward!"

Once he reached the door, rather than placing her there, Torgrim heaved her down the stairs, then shut the door behind him as he began examining his arm where she had hit him. Suddenly he saw something out of the corner of his eye!

"Behind you, Harbinger!"

Too late! While Eirik had been enduring the rantings of Njada Stone-arm, Idolaf was rising up from where he had fallen, a knife in his hand. In that one moment he leaped upon Eirik, stabbing at him over and over. But the dragon-bone armor protected his back as well as his front. Idolaf then aimed the knife for the neck, but Torgrim seized Idolaf by the throat and slammed him onto the ground.

"Here is your traitor!" he said, turning to Eirik.

"Let me kill him already!" Thorald shouted, turning to Eirik.

"No!" Eirik said. "We'll shed no blood in this hall!"

"He killed my family!" Thorald retorted. "I deserve the right to avenge them on him!"

"How can you forgive him like this?" Hermir asked Eirik. "He tried to kill you, and from behind, like no Nord should!"

"Murderers, they called you," Eirik said, speaking to Hermir as well as all those in the hall. "As your Harbinger, I shall restore honor to the Companions, but not by killing him. Let him live a long and peaceful life, dying in his bed old and full of years. And may his days be haunted by the shame of his actions."

At this, Idolaf began laughing. Eirik turned and saw a wide, mocking wolfish grin upon his face.

"What are you so happy about?" Eirik asked.

"I can't believe this bullshit," he laughed. "I'm to be cursed to 'live a long life' because of that?" He laughed again. "Now tell this brute to let me go!"

"You're a disgrace to that armor!" Torgrim roared, wrenching the knife out of Idolaf's hands.

Idolaf rose to his feet, grinning as he made his way towards the door, muttering 'How could the Empire let Whiterun fall into the hands of these heathens?' As he passed by Thorald, he turned to him, still smiling widely.

"You know," he smugly said. "Your brother Avulstein cowered like a little girl when we found him. He was crying like such a little b*tch, I finally had to drive my sword through his throat just to shut him up. And your sister, well, we had her stripped and hanged from the gate of the city to warn off rebels like you. Your father Eorlund didn't even put up a fight: he begged for his life, weeping like a little baby, groveling before me like a dog!"

"Fuck this!" Thorald shouted as he punched Idolaf in the face.

"Thorald, don't!" Eirik interjected. "No blood will be spilled here!"

"Let me kill him!" Thorald roared.

"I won't allow it!" Eirik retorted.

"Then I'll take a weregild from his flesh," Thorald stated. "Hermir, hold him down!"

Hermir grabbed Idolaf from behind and pulled him down to the ground. Despite his size, Hermir's arms were stronger from her many months spent at Oengul's forge in Windhelm. Thorald then walked over to the knife which Idolaf had tried to stab Eirik in the back with: seeing it, Idolaf's legs began thrashing about madly.

"Torgrim, hold his legs!" Thorald shouted. "Keep them apart."

With vengeance in his eyes, Thorald pulled down Idolaf's leather fauld, and then began cutting off his trousers with the knife. As he tore down his loin-cloth, Eirik looked away, guessing what would happen next. Suddenly Idolaf's voice was lifted up in loud screams of pain, forcing Eirik to turn away. He would not kill for all the death he had seen in the city of Solitude, but even hearing his voice cry out reminded him of the tortured bodies he had seen as well. Then the screams were silenced. Turning around, Eirik saw Idolaf writhing about in Hermir and Torgrim's grip, his trousers down and blood gushing from between his legs. His mouth was filled with blood.

"We are _not_ even, you back-stabbing bastard!" Thorald said to Idolaf. "Now leave! Run and tell Alfhild how much less of a man you are! And you better run far and fast, because if I see you again, I'm pulling eagle's wings out of your back!"

Pulling him up by his beard, Thorald kicked Idolaf out of the doors of Jorrvaskr hall, then turned to Eirik.

"I'm sorry about the mess," he said, breathing heavily. "He killed my family! Would you spare any less if someone killed your loved one?"

Eirik shook his head, the memory of his battle with Thelgil returning to mind. Though he had been robbed of the chance to deface the elf's body, he also knew that he would have done the same had he enough strength to continue. No voices were lifted up in cheer before the gruesome sight, certainly not his. He was thinking back on all that had happened and how it had changed him. What kind of man was he now?

* * *

><p>The evening of the twenty-fourth day of Last Seed. Jorrvaskr was clean, the banners of the Aldmeri Dominion feeding the fire-pit, and there was mead flowing once again. All seemed to be in happiness; those who had followed Kodlak and Eirik were happy to be back home in Jorrvaskr again and those who had not were happy to have been pardoned and welcomed back so readily.<p>

Eirik, however, was not so happy. He was still pondering the things that Uthgerd had told him after the taking of Jorrvaskr. She had been one of the first into Njada's schism and knew much about it. At first things were not very different. Njada was stricter on those she let in, leaving no room for 'milk-drinkers' and weaklings. Despite such stringent rules, people still flocked to the Companions and she gained a larger following. Seeing so many following her orders and doing them seemed to make Njada happy.

Then it all turned for the worst when the Justicar Eldawyn ordered the weapon restrictions to include the Companions. At first she was determined to stop it, until Olfrid Battle-Born approached her. He told her that if she let his son Idolaf join the Companions, that he would insist that they remained unaffected by the Thalmor regulations on the city. Grudgingly, Uthgerd told Eirik, she had accepted and Idolaf was made a member of the Companions. Then the trouble started.

Idolaf began ignoring Njada's rule all together, pretending to follow her orders while doing things that Uthgerd and several others secretly found dishonorable. Then questioning them became punishable by death. Then Uthgerd and Njada began to receive ugly glances from the people in the Plains District, and some of the bolder ones threw rotten food at them. Eventually Njada confronted Idolaf, but there was no turning back now. Idolaf wielded the power of the Whiterun Imperial garrison and through his father and Jarl Hrongar, the Thalmor as well. He acted through them and threatened to have Njada killed if she didn't cooperate.

"Being our leader for that long," Uthgerd added. "I think she enjoyed it, even if it was a lie. She wasn't ready to relinquish it."

Therefore she privately capitulated, remaining the harbinger of the Companions to the public while Idolaf turned them into something reminiscent of the Morag Tong assassins guild of Morrowind. They performed public executions throughout Whiterun with the blessing of Justicar Eldawyn who, according to Uthgerd, was the real power in Whiterun.

"Jarl Hrongar was a loyalist," Uthgerd stated. "His loyalties lay with the Empire and while he was responsible for the death of Clan Grey-Mane, once he let the Thalmor into Whiterun, I feel he lost his real power there."

Meanwhile, the Companions sunk lower as bandits, thugs, mercenaries and basically anyone who touched Idolaf's fancy joined the Companions. They started fights in the town, plundered the homes in the Plains District during food shortages, regularly intimidated the people of the city and sometimes they would kill indiscriminately just to sate their appetites.

"And the town guards did nothing about this?" Eirik had asked.

"There was nothing they could have done," Uthgerd sighed. "The only ones with weapons were the Imperial garrison, and they were under Eldawyn's control."

Eirik sighed as the celebration continued around him. His greatest responsibility in this was that he had long delayed the reunification. Perhaps if it had happened sooner, none of this would have happened. Now he had the hard ordeal to rebuild the reputation of the Companions from the ground up. He looked at those feasting about him and wondered how many of them were brigands, plunderers and bandits who would have to be dismissed before the end.

"Why aren't you celebrating?" Aela asked, turning to Eirik with a cup in her hand frothing with mead. "You've finally did it, we're back together!"

"But what are the Companions now?" Eirik asked.

"We've survived worse than this, according to tradition," Vilkas interjected.

"He's right," Aela said. "As long as you don't walk out on us again, everything will be fine."

Eirik glared at Aela, then stood up and stamped on the floor with his boot three times. Slowly everyone stopped feasting and drinking and turned to him.

"Brothers and sisters of the shield," Eirik began. "Things have not been well for the Companions of late. Our name has come to stink in the nostrils of those around us. Today that will change! As your leader, I will endeavor to rebuild our reputation and restore the honor that belongs to this great and noble hall."

Several of those gathered here cheered at this, raising their cups, mugs and tankards as if in toast. But Eirik was not finished speaking yet.

"Tomorrow," he said. "We will drive out the ones who have used us from Whiterun! The Thalmor presence in this city shall be obliterated. No survivors, no mercy!" This met with cheers as well and others banging their fists on the table.

"This will be the first step to restoring our honor," Eirik continued. "We belong to no man: not to the Empire, not to the Dominion, not to me or Njada. We belong to Skyrim!" More cheers arose from the Companions, though some were obviously quiet and uncomfortable at his words. Eirik then lifted up a drinking horn from the table and filled it with mead, holding it up for all to see.

"Now let us all drink the cup of reunification!" he announced. "We are Ysgramor's Companions, let us live up to that legacy! For Jorrvaskr!"

"For Jorrvaskr!" everyone cheered.

Eirik drank from the horn, then sat down and let the cold, bitter mead pour down his throat. He had once again undertaken a new task, one that would doubtless see him away from Lakeview for a long time. The Dragonborn's work was never done. He lifted up his drinking horn, thinking of those he had lost.

"Lydia, Galmar, Clan Grey-Mane," he muttered under the din of celebration around him. "Ulfric, Kodlak, Skjor, Arvid, Sven...mother and you, father: this is for you."

He drank from his horn again, feeling that he had made a silent pact with the fallen. He was to live on and do what they could not do: he was to raise his family, to be there for them and watch them grow. He was to guide the people of Skyrim and protect them with his sword. He was to give honor to the Companions. He was to save Windhelm from Athal Sarys and defend the Empire from the threat of the Dominion. He was to live, he was fight: that would be honor enough for all those who died. He was still needed.

Eirik looked into his horn, still half full of mead, gold like the leaves of the white-barked aspen trees of the Rift, and took another drink.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: NOW this part of the story is done. Of course since the journey is not yet over, there is still much more for him to do. But Eirik's part has come to an end. Or maybe not an end, but a pause where his deeds go unnoticed by the annals of Imperial history and are instead only important to those in Skyrim.)<strong>

**(I gave Idolaf the Theon Greyjoy treatment [for those who don't know _Game of Thrones_, i had his entire genitalia cut off: it was the least that could be done to repay the death of Clan Grey-Mane], and Njada's arc is interesting. She hates the Dragonborn, but while her rule was stricter, it was also weaker and she became an unwilling slave to the ambitious Clan Battle-Born.)**

**(Be on the lookout for _The Dragon of the South_, which will show mostly Crixus' story both before, somewhat in between, and, in the second part at least, after the events of these two stories: it is coming _very_ soon and just might change your opinion on the much-beloved Imperial Dragonborn)**


End file.
